


Sherlock: Trousers On Chairs

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Series: Sherlock: Impact [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship/Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-25
Updated: 2012-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft has finally admitted to being an alcoholic. Now Greg is taking care of him through his withdrawal. Warnings for language, alcohol withdrawal (including vomiting, panic attacks, etc) and lots of talking/sexual contact. Also, unlike other stories in this series, this particular story has multiple chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue/The Deal

**Author's Note:**

> Ownership: Original characters are owned by Arthur Conan Doyle. These versions are owned by Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat. I just get to play.

PROLOGUE

_‘I’m...’_

_‘I can wait all night, Mycroft.’_

_Finally Mycroft squeezed his eyes shut and said, ‘I have a problem.’_

_‘And what would that problem be?’_

_He took deep breaths. ‘I’m a... an alcoholic.’_

_Greg paused and looked Mycroft over. The man was shaking, barely holding on. ‘Are you going to let me help you?’_

_‘Yes.’_

_‘Good.’_

_Mycroft opened his eyes and looked pleadingly at Greg. ‘You’re not going to leave me?’_

_‘No,’ Greg said and stepped closer. He wrapped his arms around Mycroft and hugged him tightly. ‘I know that was difficult and that giving it up will be hard. But I will be with you every step of the way, Mycroft Holmes. I love you, okay?’_

_‘Okay.’_

_‘Thank you for admitting it,’ Greg said and kissed him softly._

_‘I don’t know if I... if I can stop.’_

_‘I’ll help,’ Greg said and pulled back to look at Mycroft. ‘I know that was difficult for you, but I will help, Mycroft. Being an alcoholic is nothing to be ashamed of. Letting something like that control you isn’t a weakness, Mycroft. It’s human. And getting over it will just make you stronger, alright?’_

_‘Alright.’ Mycroft gripped Greg closer, glad to have his boyfriend there. He was very close to falling apart. ‘Gregory?’_

_‘Mm?’_

_‘I love you.’_

_‘I love you too.’_

_It would be difficult, Mycroft might relapse. But Greg didn’t care. He loved Mycroft Holmes. And he’d do anything for him._

_\--_ **  
** __

**1: THE DEAL**

Mycroft Holmes didn’t like being ill. It messed with his ability to think. He couldn’t keep tabs on his thoughts and his fantastic, brilliant brain was reduced to a pile of mush. Thankfully he rarely got sick. Detoxing, though, could not be avoided. As a functioning alcoholic, Mycroft actually operated normally when he had alcohol in his system. It was why he drank so much and had to drink at work. When he didn’t he began shaking and shivering, sweating and feeling hot and cold and just _sick_.

It would be painful. It would make his stomach hurt, his muscles itch, and he would want a drink _so_ badly. Anything would do: a beer, a vodka shot, a fucking alco-pop. _Anything!_ But he had promised to get sober for Gregory. His Gregory. So he would detox slowly and painfully and probably loudly.

After getting arrested (and let off because of his high status as the shadowy side of the British Government) Greg took Mycroft back to his flat and proceeded to throw out each and every bottle of alcohol. It didn’t matter what it was, Greg binned it. Mycroft watched pained as fifteen-year-old scotch was thrown out like a cheap bottle of soft drink.

Greg texted Anthea and had her search Mycroft’s office to get rid of any stashes before he turned to Mycroft.

‘Right, any hidden drinks I should know about?’ Mycroft shook his head roughly and Greg snorted. ‘We’ll see.’

He went through Mycroft’s en-suite bathroom first but found nothing. In the bedroom there was a bottle of bourbon in the bottom draw along with some old diet pills that Greg decided to bin and ignore for now.

The living room was next and Greg found a few treasures in various cabinets. Mycroft watched from the couch.

‘You are a liar, Mycroft Holmes,’ Greg said once he’d searched every nook and cranny.

‘I’m sorry,’ Mycroft mumbled.

‘S’alright,’ Greg said. ‘Addicts lie.’

Mycroft sighed. ‘I can’t believe I’m an addict,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise...’

‘Addicts never do,’ Greg said. ‘It starts small and you tell yourself you can stop but next thing you know it’s running your life.’

‘It sounds like you speak from experience,’ Mycroft said.

Greg just smiled. ‘I’m a cop, Myc. I’ve seen plenty of junkies swearing on their mother’s lives they’re not addicts. Sherlock included.’

Mycroft sighed again and tipped himself back to fall on the couch. ‘I can’t believe this... you must hate me.’

‘Why would I?’

‘I was adamant that I wasn’t an alcoholic,’ Mycroft said and looked at Greg carefully. ‘But I am. You were... you were right.’

‘I didn’t want to be, Mycroft,’ Greg said. ‘None of this is exactly fun for me. But I’ll help you, I promise.’

Mycroft fidgeted with his shirt. ‘What if I want a drink?’

‘You call me and I’ll stop you.’

‘And if that’s not enough?’

Greg smiled. ‘For every day that you go without a drink, I will give you a kiss. I won’t kiss you any other time.’

‘What?’

‘That’s the only way it will work, Mycroft,’ Greg said and sat back on the coffee table. ‘One kiss for one full day without a drink. One week and you get a grab. Two weeks, a hand job. Three weeks, a blow job. Four weeks and I’ll make you come with my fingers. One full month and I’ll let you fuck me. The next month I will fuck you. It will continue that way until you feel strong enough on your own and don’t want a drink. Deal?’

Mycroft stared at him carefully before swallowing and nodding.

‘Good,’ Greg said. ‘Now bed.’

‘Gregory...’ Mycroft said as they stepped into his room.

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you.’

Greg smiled and picked up Mycroft’s hands. He kissed them softly. ‘You’re welcome.’


	2. Day One

**2: DAY ONE**

Mycroft sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed at his eyes. It was early, very early, at least four hours before he actually had to get up. Greg was still asleep and he turned to look at him before sighing.

He really couldn’t believe it. How had this happened? How had a small liking for wine turned into such a big problem? It was obvious now, looking back; he had never left it at one drink. It had always been five or seven or a few bottles. He’d had to drink to get through the day. Everything was so much simpler with alcohol.

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his eyes again. He could sneak a drink right now but he had promised Greg.

He turned to look at his boyfriend and smiled slightly. That he had someone who loved him was amazing. Greg was... he was _amazing._ He had stuck by Mycroft, even when the politician had denied again and again about having a problem. And he was still here, now, willing to help Mycroft through it.

Mycroft smiled and laid back down to look at Greg. Without him Mycroft knew he’d go straight back to drinking. Without Greg he wouldn’t have any control. But with Greg, with him here right now, Mycroft didn’t need a drink. He could control it.

 

-oOo-

 

Greg yawned and blinked before rubbing at his face. ‘Guh,’ he groaned and sat up. He was tired, he’d been drooling, and where the bloody hell was Mycroft? Greg looked around but couldn’t see his boyfriend. The bed was cold and Greg looked at the alarm; Mycroft didn’t need to leave for at least another two hours.

He slipped from bed and went into the living room but couldn’t see Mycroft anywhere. He checked everywhere before going back into the politician’s room. Maybe he was at work.

There was a cough and the sound of someone heaving before a groan. Greg sighed and walked around the bed to push open the en-suite bathroom. Mycroft was sitting draped over the toilet in his pyjamas. He was shaking and pale, sweat making his hair cling to his forehead. He groaned and threw up again, emptying a mouthful  of bile into the toilet.

‘Myc,’ Greg sighed and stepped closer. He crouched down and began rubbing Mycroft’s back. ‘How long have you been in here?’

‘H-hours,’ Mycroft groaned and threw up again. Greg winced as he spat.

‘Why didn’t you wake me?’

‘You needed sleep,’ Mycroft said. ‘I’m fine.’

He threw up again and Greg sighed. ‘What did I say about pretending you’re okay?’

‘Erm...’ Mycroft trailed off and bent over the toilet but didn’t throw up.

‘Myc, don’t lie to me if you’re feeling sick,’ Greg said. ‘Not now, alright?’

After a minute Mycroft sighed and said, ‘Okay.’

‘Now, how do you feel?’

He groaned and rested his head against his right arm. ‘I feel awful. I’ve never felt this bad before. I’m nauseous and my head hurts and I just want to die.’

‘Please don’t,’ Greg said. Mycroft smiled weakly before heaving over the toilet again. ‘Myc, how about I call John?’

‘No!’ Mycroft gasped.

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t... don’t want them to... to know,’ Mycroft said.

‘Mycroft, John could tell us what to expect.’

‘Use... internet...’ he managed before throwing up again.

‘He’s a friend, Myc, and a good doctor,’ Greg said. ‘He can help. And Sherlock won’t tease you, not about this.’

Mycroft just shook his head weakly and rubbed at his red and bruised eyes.

‘Mycroft, please,’ Greg said. ‘You don’t need to keep this a secret, not from them.’

The politician sighed and leaned back once more, rubbing at his mouth. He looked Greg over carefully.

‘You don’t need to keep this a secret,’ Greg repeated firmly. He picked up Mycroft’s hand, not caring about the vomit. ‘Please, Myc. John can help. I know admitting that you lost control is difficult. But please, for me, let John help.’

Finally Mycroft sighed and nodded.

‘Thank you, Mycroft.’

‘I love you,’ Mycroft said.

Greg smiled and Mycroft squeezed his hand tightly. ‘Love you too.’

Mycroft let him go to throw up again and Greg went to get his phone. He was sitting on the edge of the bed when John answered with a very groggy, ‘ _’Lo?_ ’

Greg glanced at the bedside table. The alarm read 4:12am. ‘Shit. Sorry, John, I didn’t realise how early it was.’

‘ _S’alright_ ,’ John groaned and Greg heard rustling. ‘ _What’s up? Murder?_ ’

‘No, no it’s Mycroft.’

‘ _Is he alright_?’ John asked, doctor kicking in immediately and overtaking his exhaustion. Greg heard someone moan.

‘No, not really,’ he confessed.

‘ _What happened_?’ John asked before Sherlock’s voice entered the conversation.

‘ _John, bed. Who cares about my brother_?’

‘ _Shut up, Sherlock,_ ’ John replied. Like a soldier he already sounded more alert than Greg felt.

‘He finally admitted that he... well...’ Greg sighed and pulled at his shirt. ‘John, Mycroft’s an alcoholic.’

John gasped and there was rustling. Then Sherlock asked, ‘ _Is he okay? What did he do_?’

‘He’s fine,’ Greg reassured. ‘But he finally admitted to me that he’s got a problem.’

‘ _Oh_ ,’ Sherlock said softly and Greg could almost hear the cogs in his mind working.

‘He’s detoxing,’ Greg said, ‘and I was wondering if John could tell me what exactly to expect.’

‘ _Right_ ,’ Sherlock said, ‘ _John?_ ’

‘ _He’s an alcoholic_?’ John asked once he got the phone back.

‘Yeah,’ Greg said. ‘Can you tell me what to expect?’

John sighed and yawned before saying, ‘ _Right, well there are a lot of symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. The most common are sweating, headaches, nausea, depression, panic attacks, anorexia, vomiting, insomnia, tremors and irritability._ ’

‘Jesus,’ Greg said.

‘ _Yeah, so you’ll want to keep him at home at least a day or two,_ ’ John said. ‘ _Most symptoms disappear after a week or so, depends really. Some might follow him around for a year. How long’s he been an alcoholic_?’

‘About ten or so years,’ Greg said. ‘Sherlock said sometimes he goes months without a drink.’

‘ _Sometimes_ ,’ Sherlock agreed in the background. ‘ _Lately he’s always drinking. He’s been a functioning alcoholic as long as he’s been dating Gregory._ ’

John. ‘ _Right, well he should be better in a few weeks. He’ll want a drink, though, just to make the pain go away. So watch him. Maybe make him take a week off work, the stress won’t help._ ’

‘Is there anything else I can do?’ Greg asked. ‘To make this easier?’

‘ _Just talk to him, make him know you’re there for him,_ ’ John said. ‘ _And make sure he sees a doctor. Alcohol withdrawal can, in severe cases, cause seizures and sometimes death._ ’

‘What?’ Greg gasped.

‘ _Extreme cases,_ ’ John reassured him. ‘ _But make sure he sees a doctor. There are medications that can help; benzodiazepines are commonly used but only short term because they can create a new addiction. And he’ll need vitamins to make up for all the nutrition his body’s been lacking because of the alcohol._ ’

‘He’ll never see a doctor,’ Greg sighed. ‘He had to get arrested before he admitted he had a problem to me.’

‘ _He was arrested_?’ Sherlock shouted gleefully and John swore at him. Even though he was worried, Sherlock couldn’t help but make fun of his brother.

‘Bloody hell, tell Sherlock to stop it,’ Greg said. ‘Mycroft’s throwing up in the bathroom.’

‘ _Tell him to come down to the surgery,_ ’ John said, ‘ _I can be his doctor if he wants to keep it hidden from work. Or I’ll come see him_?’

‘That might be better,’ Greg said. ‘I’m gonna take the day off work, he needs me right now. And I told his assistant he wouldn’t be in.’

‘ _Okay,_ ’ John said and yawned. ‘ _He’ll most likely experience nausea, vomiting, headaches, shakes and sweating the first 24 hours. Just keep an eye on him, keep him hydrated, and try to get him to eat something small. I’ll come around midday._ ’

‘Thanks John,’ Greg breathed out. Suddenly he felt a bit better.

‘ _No worries,_ ’ John yawned again.

‘Sorry I woke you, go back to sleep.’

‘ _Mm,_ ’ John mumbled and Greg chuckled. He hung up and went back into the bathroom.

 

-oOo-

 

Greg managed to coax Mycroft into the living room. He put the TV on mute and sat Mycroft down with a blanket wrapped around him. He went from shivering to boiling hot to sweating to shivering again in the space of twenty minutes. Greg made some toast but couldn’t get Mycroft to eat any of it. He had to turn all the lights off and pull the blinds when Mycroft complained of a migraine.

When Greg answered the door at 12:30 the flat was shrouded in darkness. He smiled at John and Sherlock before closing the door and leading them to Mycroft. Mycroft had dragged himself into a sitting position but he still looked horrible. He was pale, clammy, shivering slightly while at the same time sweating. He rubbed his eyes as John sat on the coffee table.

‘How do you feel?’ he asked and pulled a thermometer from his kit.

‘Bad,’ Mycroft admitted and opened his mouth. He went silent as John took his temperature.

‘No fever,’ John said a minute later. He looked Mycroft over carefully. The politician seemed anxious, scared as well as sick and John realised all of this was very difficult for him. A man like Mycroft Holmes wasn’t used to showing this level of weakness. ‘It’s okay, Mycroft,’ John said. ‘We won’t judge you, not for this. Right Sherlock?’

Sherlock nodded quickly. ‘Never, brother.’

Mycroft looked at him carefully and Greg said, ‘We love you, Myc. You don’t have to worry about us knowing. We’ll take care of you.’

Mycroft swallowed and looked back at John. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ John said. ‘This doesn’t make you weak, Mycroft. Your desire to quit shows that you’re taking control of the situation.’

‘It does?’ Mycroft asked and he looked a little relieved.

Greg smiled as John nodded. ‘Yep,’ he said. ‘You control the situation now; you’re in control of getting sober.’

Mycroft managed a smile and Greg mouthed, “ _thank you_ ” to John. The doctor was very good at talking to Holmeses. Greg would have to ask him for lessons.

John nodded at Greg and asked Mycroft, ‘How long since you had any alcohol?’

Mycroft closed his eyes to think properly. ‘Twelve hours.’

‘Right,’ John said. ‘Symptoms so far?’

‘Sweating, nausea, headaches, vomiting, shivering,’ Mycroft said.

‘Sounds about normal,’ John said and leaned back. ‘You’ll feel like crap for a while, Mycroft. But you should be okay. Come down to the surgery and I’ll prescribe you some pain killers that’ll help. Insomnia is the main thing that makes alcoholics relapse. But with Greg you should be okay.’

He smiled and Mycroft managed a weak one in return.

‘Tea?’ Greg asked and John nodded. He stood and followed Greg into the kitchen, leaving Sherlock with his brother.

Mycroft sighed and leaned back. He grabbed the cold cloth Greg had got him and rubbed his face.

‘Are you okay?’ Sherlock asked.

Mycroft looked up at him. Sherlock looked much like he had when they were little. When Mycroft was hurt Sherlock got the same look on his face; fascinated, curious, scared, worried.

‘I’m... I’ll get better,’ Mycroft said.

Sherlock nodded slowly. ‘I really thought this was going to kill you, brother. This and...’ he trailed off and looked at Mycroft pointedly.

Mycroft sighed. ‘Please don’t start, Sherlock.’

‘Start what?’ Greg asked, leaning on the back of the couch to look at the brothers.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft carefully before saying, ‘Nothing.’

Greg raised his eyebrows. Sherlock never started speaking unless he had _something_ to say. Usually something brilliant and annoying. ‘Right,’ he said slowly.

‘Are you sure you will stay sober?’ Sherlock asked his brother. ‘You’ve tried and failed before.’

Greg frowned at him and Mycroft said, ‘I’m sure.’

‘How?’

He reached back and took one of Greg’s hands. Squeezing it gently and said, ‘I have Gregory.’

Greg smiled at him and Sherlock rolled his eyes. John nudged his boyfriend and Sherlock wrapped an arm around John’s shoulders. He leaned down and softly whispered, ‘Thank you.’

John said, ‘It’s alright.’

Sherlock kissed him quickly and Greg grinned.

 

-oOo-

 

Sherlock and John left for a case after Greg told Scotland Yard he was taking some personal leave. He told Dimmock to let him know if Sherlock was too much of a handful and spent the remainder of the day on the couch with Mycroft.

Mycroft didn’t throw up again until mid-afternoon and Greg sat with him, rubbing his back and soothing him as much as he could. He knew Mycroft was a grown man and could take care of himself but he was still worried. Mycroft Holmes wasn’t a man accustomed to losing control and Greg knew that was harder for him than the detoxing.

‘I’m fine,’ Mycroft insisted once they’d gone back into the living room.

‘Mycroft,’ Greg sighed and placed their dinner on the coffee table. He knew Mycroft wouldn’t feel like eating but he had to try.

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft retorted and started hunting for his phone.

Greg rolled his eyes. ‘Were you always this annoying?’

‘Always,’ Mycroft said. ‘The alcohol hid it.’

Greg sighed. ‘Myc.’

‘Yes?’ Mycroft asked. He found his phone on the table and smiled, picking it up.

‘You’re not going to work,’ Greg said and took Mycroft’s BlackBerry from him. It hadn’t chirped all day and Greg knew it was Anthea; she’d know all about Mycroft’s admission.

‘Why not?’

‘Well, you’re as pale as a fucking ghost,’ Greg said. ‘And you’re shaking. Have you not noticed the shaking?’

Mycroft looked down at his right hand. It _was_ shaking and he squeezed it into a fist. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Mycroft, what did I say?’

Mycroft looked at him carefully. Gone was the playfulness of a minute before. He squirmed in his seat. Why was it that Greg had the ability to make him feel like a five-year-old? Mycroft controlled everything... except Greg.

‘Fine,’ he grumbled. ‘I’ll stay home. For you, not because I’m sick.’

Greg grinned. ‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘I’ll text Anthea, she can cover for you. I’m sure Britain can do without you for a week.’

‘A _week_?’

‘One week,’ Greg said and tapped at his mobile. ‘One whole week, Myc, before I let you go back to work. I’m taking the week off too.’

‘Can you do that?’ Mycroft asked.

‘I can and have,’ Greg said and grabbed the bottle of coke. He sat beside Mycroft and poured them both a glass.

‘Coke?’ Mycroft asked.

‘It’s yummy,’ Greg smiled and took a sip.

Mycroft said, ‘Fattening.’

‘No more fattening then wine,’ Greg said and nudged him.

Mycroft took his glass and sipped it quickly. ‘It’s alright,’ he said.

Greg grinned. ‘Yummy.’

Mycroft rolled his eyes but smiled.

 

-oOo-

 

They spent the night watching TV with the subtitles on. Mycroft was rubbing his temples and trying to pretend he was okay. But soon the headache had turned into a migraine and Greg helped him to bed. He laid Mycroft down and made him take some Neurofen and sip from a glass of water.

‘You okay?’ Greg asked.

Mycroft groaned and closed his eyes.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Greg said and lowered his voice. ‘Are you alright?’

‘No,’ Mycroft whimpered. ‘My head... it hurts.’

‘Shh, it’s okay,’ Greg said.

‘Need... you,’ Mycroft whispered and squeezed his eyes shut.

Greg stripped to his boxers and climbed into the bed carefully. He wrapped his arms around Mycroft and held him tightly.

They stayed that way for a while until the drugs kicked in and Mycroft sighed. He rolled over to look at Greg and smiled.

‘Feel better?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Gregory.’

‘No worries.’

‘Without you...’ Mycroft started and bit his lip. ‘I can’t do this without you.’

‘That’s okay, Myc,’ Greg said. ‘I love you, I’ll be here.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It’s alright.’

Carefully Greg leaned forward and kissed him, his lips soft on Mycroft’s. Mycroft shifted to kiss him better and sighed as Greg ran a hand through his hair lightly, pulling him closer. Mycroft slid his tongue along Greg’s bottom lip and the DI let him in, enjoying the soft and tentative pushes and exploration.

Greg pushed Mycroft down to lie on his back and tilted his head to fit their lips together better. He stayed hovering over him and leaned in closer when Mycroft wrapped his arms around his neck, dragging him down.

The DI let himself fall to rest on his boyfriend’s chest, enjoying the warmth and Mycroft’s presence. He smiled when Mycroft moved beneath him and pulled back.

‘No,’ Mycroft whined and Greg chuckled softly.

He reached down and ran his fingers lightly along Mycroft’s damp face. ‘I love you, Myc. But remember our deal?’

Mycroft scowled and Greg laughed. ‘One kiss for one day of sobriety,’ he said.

‘Exactly,’ Greg smiled. He gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and settled down beside him, continuing to touch Mycroft softly. ‘I’m proud of you, Mycroft. You’ll get better.’

‘You can’t know that.’

‘I can,’ Greg said. ‘I believe in you.’

Mycroft turned to look at him carefully. Suddenly he realised this was how Sherlock had felt when John stood up to him; when John said he believed Sherlock could stop the cutting. Greg believed in Mycroft like John had believed in Sherlock. It was an amazing feeling, something Mycroft hadn’t ever felt before. To have that level of devotion, to have someone who believed in him this much and loved him this much... it was more than he had ever hoped for.

‘Myc? What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You’re crying.’

Mycroft realised he was and wiped at his eyes. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

Mycroft smiled and pulled Greg closer, aching for his warmth, his love. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ **  
**


	3. Day Two

**3: DAY TWO**

Greg woke quickly. Mycroft was wrapped around him whimpering and Greg asked, ‘What is it?’

‘My body... it hurts,’ Mycroft said.

Greg pulled himself up and looked at Mycroft. He was shaking slightly and clenching every muscle in his body. He groaned when Greg pulled himself free.

‘Where... where are you going?’

‘I’m gonna call John,’ Greg said and grabbed his phone. He dialled and went back to Mycroft, picking up his hand and squeezing gently.

‘ _Hello?_ ’

Greg realised it was probably early again but didn’t care. ‘Mycroft’s in a lot of pain.’

‘ _What kind of pain_?’ John asked quickly.

Greg looked down at his boyfriend. ‘Mycroft? Where does it hurt?’

‘Everywhere.’

‘What kind of pain?’

Mycroft buried his face in his pillow and mumbled, ‘My muscles... aching. Really, really bad.’

‘He said his muscles ache,’ Greg said to John.

‘ _That’s okay,_ ’ John said and sighed in relief. ‘ _It’s just dehydration. Give him plenty of water and make him sleep, he’ll be fine._ ’

Greg sighed too and rubbed his eyes. ‘Thanks, John.’

‘ _Not a problem_.’

‘Sorry I woke you.’

John chuckled. ‘ _It’s alright. I remember watching Sherlock crash after he stopped cutting. You and Mycroft will be okay_.’

‘Thanks again,’ Greg said and hung up. ‘Myc, I’m going to go get some water, alright?’

Mycroft nodded weakly and Greg went into the kitchen. He filled a tall glass and grabbed the pain killers before going back to the bedroom.

He sat beside Mycroft and said, ‘You have to sit up.’

‘No,’ Mycroft groaned.

‘Myc, please,’ Greg said. ‘You need water; it’ll make the pain go away.’

Finally Mycroft shifted and winced. He sat up shakily and Greg helped him hold the glass. He drank all of it and Greg passed him two pain killers.

‘Take those and I’ll get more water.’

After three more glasses Mycroft groaned and fell back into bed. He rubbed at his arms, wincing.

‘Dehydration,’ Greg said.

‘I should have known,’ Mycroft whispered. ‘I didn’t... it just hurts.’

‘What you should have done was woken me,’ Greg said.

Mycroft turned to look at him. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ Greg said and pulled the covers back over them. Mycroft wrapped his arms around him and Greg said, ‘Just sleep.’

‘Not tired,’ Mycroft said but yawned.

Greg chuckled. ‘Just sleep, Myc.’

Mycroft yawned again and closed his eyes. Greg reached forward and ran his fingers through his hair, watching as Mycroft relaxed and drifted to sleep.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft groaned and rubbed at his eyes. He shifted to look around. It was mid-morning, probably around ten. Greg was still asleep and Mycroft smiled at him. He felt better but his stomach was still churning. Nothing new there. His mouth felt dry and Mycroft slipped from bed without waking Greg to go into the kitchen. He poured himself a large glass of water and sipped from it as he leaned against the counter.

He still felt horrible, like he had a bad cold, but at least his muscles weren’t aching. Earlier it had felt like his muscles were trying to tear themselves free. It had hurt so badly, a bit like a bullet wound and Mycroft could barely move without aggravating some part of his body. All he’d been able to do was wrap himself firmly around Greg and whimper.

The water had helped; like liquid gold. Mycroft couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of dehydration first; it was so obvious now. His muscles had been starved of water and had clamped up. Mycroft hated that he hadn’t thought of that.

He placed his glass on the counter and sighed, rubbing his eyes. At least he’d stopped shaking which was something. His stomach twisted painfully around the water and he bit his lip. He knew he should have been eating; his body had been starved of vitamins for too long. But he didn’t want to eat. It hurt.

Mycroft looked across at the hallway. He could imagine Gregory still asleep, wrapped up in the expensive sheets. It made Mycroft smile. Eight months ago he didn’t have this. He didn’t have somebody who cared enough to take a week off work and wait around while he got sober. He didn’t have anyone besides his brother who cared.

And now he had Gregory. Mycroft couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He had the very best man in the world. He just hoped he didn’t lose him.

 

-oOo-

 

The room was bright and Greg shielded his eyes from the windows. He turned to try and find Mycroft but he was gone, the bed cold. He dragged himself up and went into the bathroom first. There was no sign of him and Greg went into the living room.

Mycroft was sitting on the couch wrapped in a blanket. He was staring at the TV and sipping from a glass of water. He looked up and smiled at Greg.

‘Morning,’ Greg said.

‘Afternoon,’ Mycroft corrected. He held out his arms and Greg crawled onto the couch to rest his head against Mycroft’s chest.

‘What’s the time?’

‘Two,’ Mycroft said and wrapped an arm around Greg. He pulled him in closer and said, ‘I was going to wake you but you looked like you needed the rest.’

‘You need rest, not me,’ Greg said.

‘Do I really look that bad?’ Mycroft asked.

Greg pulled back to look him over. ‘Better than yesterday. You’re really pale and you look tired, sick. But better.’

Mycroft smiled and pulled Greg closer. ‘I can’t wait until tonight,’ he said.

‘Why?’ Greg asked.

‘I get another kiss.’

Greg chuckled and kissed Mycroft’s chest. ‘Yes you do.’

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft skipped dinner again and pulled Greg into the shower. It took all of Greg’s willpower to keep himself off him. Mycroft himself purposely brushed against Greg any chance he could and grinned when Greg started going hard.

‘Stop it!’ Greg finally said and stumbled from the shower. Mycroft chuckled.

He fell into bed ten minutes later and turned to look at Greg. Greg grabbed him and hauled him in for a passionate kiss. His lips pressed against Mycroft’s and Mycroft groaned, wrapping an arm around Greg tightly. He pulled him in closer and moaned again, feeling Greg’s tongue run along his lips.

Mycroft opened his mouth and felt his boyfriend’s tongue plunge inside, wrapping around his own and running along his teeth. Mycroft gasped and pushed himself forward until Greg was on his back.

Greg’s hands were warm on his neck and as he pulled him down closer, Mycroft’s nose brushing his cheek. There was a light layer of stubble along Mycroft’s face and Greg groaned, running his fingers across the spiky ginger hairs. He’d never wanted Mycroft this badly; his body was very warm against his own, his erection pressing into Greg’s thigh.

But he remembered the deal and pushed Mycroft back. Mycroft groaned and laid on his back panting. Greg rubbed at his face, still tasting Mycroft on his lips.

‘That... was... nice...’ Mycroft panted.

Greg chuckled and turned his head. ‘Yeah... I thought so... too.’

Mycroft smiled and twisted himself closer to Greg. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Greg said and kissed his cheek.

‘Is that all?’

‘One kiss per day,’ Greg said.

Mycroft ran a hand through Greg’s hair and said, ‘I’m not sure if any of that counted as one kiss.’

‘Well next time I’ll limit it to a peck on the lips if you feel that way,’ Greg said.

‘No!’ Mycroft gasped and pulled him closer. ‘I’m sorry, I was wrong, that was definitely just one kiss.’

Greg giggled and made Mycroft turn so he could snuggle into his back. ‘And no more showers, not together.’

‘Why?’ Mycroft whined.

‘You’re too sexy for me to stay away.’

Mycroft smiled. ‘I thought so.’

Greg slapped him and settled down to breathe in Mycroft’s scent and ignoring the stab of need it sent through his lower body.


	4. Day Three

**4: DAY THREE**

‘ _How’s Mycroft doing_?’ John Watson asked.

Greg turned to lean against the counter and look at his boyfriend.

‘He couldn’t sleep last night,’ Greg said and watched as Mycroft stabbed at the remote with his index finger. ‘And he’s very... well he keeps snapping at everything, including the cushions. Apparently they’re purposely rearranging themselves to annoy him.’

‘ _So he’s irritable_?’ John asked.

‘Yeah,’ Greg said. ‘He’s been shouting at the TV for forty minutes. Something about the FBI agent being dressed too well to be straight.’

‘He is!’ Mycroft shouted and Greg smiled. ‘Look at the suits he wears! They are far too tight to allow proper movement!’

‘You were tight suits,’ Greg pointed out.

‘And I’m gay!’ Mycroft retorted. ‘You just proved my point!’

Greg chuckled. ‘What about David Tennant? He wears tight suits in Doctor Who and he’s straight.’

Mycroft glared at him and cursed. He fell back onto the couch and scowled as the _Bones_ theme played on the TV.

John laughed into the phone. ‘ _Don’t worry, it’ll pass. Typical symptom._ ’

‘I hope so,’ Greg said.

‘ _And insomnia is a common symptom too. It’s why so many alcoholics relapse; they drink to get some sleep._ ’

‘What about not eating?’ Greg asked. ‘He hasn’t had anything in three days.’

‘I’m not hungry,’ Mycroft muttered and fast-forwarded through the two main characters talking. Mycroft preferred the dead-body parts.

‘ _You have to make him eat,_ ’ John said. ‘ _He’ll be feeling nauseous, probably stomach cramps too. But just make him eat something small and dry. Try biscuits or some toast._ ’

‘And how do you propose I get him to do that?’

‘ _Well, when Sherlock doesn’t want to eat I promise him something... er... you know..._ ’

‘Right, right,’ Greg said. ‘But I already made some promises in that area.’

‘ _Okay_ ,’ John said. ‘ _I dunno then._ ’

‘Thanks, you’re a big help,’ Greg said and John chuckled.

‘ _No worries_ ,’ the doctor said and hung up.

Greg slipped his phone into his pocket and went through Mycroft’s cupboards. There was nothing edible and he sighed. ‘Myc?’

‘What?’ Mycroft asked and poked at his remote. ‘Why won’t this stop?’

Greg approached and saw that the DVD was still fast forwarding. Mycroft cursed and shook the remote, making Greg smile. He took it and pressed rewind until a body popped up on the screen. He stopped and turned the volume down as the characters went over the remains.

‘Thank you,’ Mycroft said shortly and folded his arms.

Greg smiled. ‘No worries. Erm, Myc?’

‘Yes?’

‘I need to go out and get some food.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

Greg sighed. ‘You need food, Mycroft.’

‘I’m not hungry,’ the politician repeated.

‘Mycroft,’ Greg warned.

‘Yes?’

Greg groaned. ‘Why are you being so difficult?’

‘I’m not,’ Mycroft huffed. ‘I said I’m not hungry yet you continue to bring up the subject.’

‘You haven’t eaten in three days.’

‘And?’

Greg stared at him. ‘Mycroft, you’re not making this any easier.’

‘I never said I would.’

He glared at the TV and Greg ran his hands through his hair. ‘Right, how about we make a deal?’

Mycroft’s eyes slid to rest on him. ‘What kind of deal?’ he asked.

‘A sexual one.’

The politician’s eyes lit up but he kept his face neutral. ‘Go on.’

‘One kiss for every meal you have,’ Greg said. ‘Finish all your food, no matter how sick you feel, and I’ll kiss you.’

Mycroft watched him carefully before biting his lip. ‘What if I throw up?’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Greg said. ‘Eat and I’ll kiss you.’

‘As well as the kiss at night?’

‘Yes,’ Greg nodded.

Mycroft paused again and looked him over slowly. He couldn’t quite believe that something as simple as kissing could make him feel so... excited. He found that he was fully prepared to do as Gregory wished as long as he got to taste the man on his lips. Finally Mycroft nodded and said, ‘Very well.’

‘Good. Well I have to go and get some food. Will you be okay here?’

‘I’m a grown man, Gregory, I can take care of myself.’

‘Okay,’ Greg said. He leaned forward and kissed Mycroft on the cheek. ‘I’ll be back soon.’

‘Please hurry,’ Mycroft said quickly. Greg chuckled and went to put on his shoes.

 

-oOo-

 

Greg bought bread, biscuits, and a lot of other dry food as well as some chicken, vegetables and salad. Mycroft was still in an annoyed mood and watched as Greg unpacked all the groceries and put them away.

‘Not going to help?’ he asked and Mycroft shook his head.

He was sulking so Greg shrugged and went about making dinner. He cooked the chicken breasts and drained them before making a dry salad. He drizzled sauce over his own chicken and vinegar over his lettuce. He took both plates to the table and set them down.

Mycroft stared at him from the kitchen and Greg said, ‘So you don’t want that kiss?’

With a sigh, Mycroft dragged himself to the table and sat down. He took his fork and knife, cutting up the chicken. He brought a piece to his lips and hesitated.

Greg kept his eyes on Mycroft and took a bite of his own, chewing quickly and swallowing. He purposely licked his lips slowly and watched as Mycroft’s eyes followed the movement.

With a sigh and curse, Mycroft popped the chicken into his mouth and chewed. Greg grinned as he swallowed and stabbed at another piece of chicken.

‘You hate me,’ Mycroft said.

‘Do not,’ Greg replied and stood to get two glasses of water. When he got back he saw that half of Mycroft’s chicken was gone. There was nowhere he could have hidden it and Greg grinned.

Mycroft scowled but ate all his chicken.

‘Salad too,’ Greg said.

‘But I ate the chicken!’

‘Mycroft.’

‘Fine,’ Mycroft grunted. He ate all the salad, pushing the plate away when he was done. He took a huge gulp of water and looked at Greg expectantly, bright blue eyes wide. He kind of looked like a lost puppy and Greg purposely ignored him; he didn’t need his resolve crumbling now.

Greg continued to eat and saw Mycroft huff from the corner of his eye. He smiled and took his time, enjoying his meal and the fact that Mycroft had eaten everything. When he was done he took the plates into the kitchen and placed them in the sink. He turned to find Mycroft before him.

Mycroft didn’t wait. He wrapped his arms around Greg’s waist and hauled him in until their bodies were pressed against each other. He looked down at Greg and smiled at the small blush that had crept up his boyfriend’s face.

Mycroft leaned down and brushed his lips lightly against Greg’s. ‘I ate all my food.’

‘Yeah,’ Greg said and swallowed. ‘You did.’

‘Do I get my reward now?’

Greg nodded quickly.

‘Or should we wait?’ Mycroft asked and drew back slightly.

Greg pushed himself up and their lips connected. He raised his arms and draped them over Mycroft’s shoulders as the taller man pushed him back into the counter. Mycroft groaned and kissed him harder, sucking at Greg’s bottom lip.

He opened his mouth and let Mycroft’s tongue in, moaning softly at the taste, the feel. He missed doing this every day but was adamant he’d stick to his promise. Mycroft needed something to fight for.

Greg’s arse was hurting from being pushed up against the counter and moved to get more comfortable. Mycroft whined but Greg captured his lips again, not ready to stop, and moved one of his hands to cup his boyfriend’s face.

Mycroft guessed this probably qualified as two kisses but didn’t bring it up. Instead he smiled against Greg’s lips and hauled him towards the couch in the living room.

‘Mycroft,’ Greg warned but didn’t break the kiss.

‘Still... kissing,’ Mycroft managed and dropped onto the leather, taking the DI with him. ‘Not... breaking... the rules...’ He pushed himself up against Greg and groaned as he gripped the older man’s hips, wanting to touch and squeeze the flesh beneath. But Greg wouldn’t let him do that, not until the end of the month.

Greg moved to run a hand down to Mycroft’s thigh, loving the warmth and feel. He so very badly wanted to rip Mycroft’s clothes off and devour him completely. But he couldn’t, not yet.

With a curse, Greg pulled back and sat up, moving away from Mycroft. Mycroft remained on his back panting, staring at the ceiling.

‘That was way more than one kiss,’ Greg said.

Mycroft chuckled. ‘I didn’t hear you complaining.’

‘You always break the rules,’ Greg commented.

His boyfriend sat up and smiled at him. ‘I wouldn’t be the British Government if I didn’t.’

Greg rolled his eyes and Mycroft just smiled.

 

-oOo-

 

That night Greg kept himself in check. Standing, he grabbed Mycroft after the politician had changed into his pyjamas. Greg wrapped one arm around Mycroft’s waist and raised his other hand to cup Mycroft’s cheek. Slowly Greg leaned up and pressed his lips lightly against Mycroft’s. Mycroft dropped his hands to rest on Greg’s shoulders and closed his eyes, enjoying the kiss, the soft touches, everything.

He opened his mouth to invite Greg in but the DI refused, limiting himself to a soft kiss. Mycroft whined and Greg smiled against him, gripping Mycroft’s hip tighter.

Mycroft opened his mouth again but still Greg refused. Finally he pushed his own tongue out but could only swipe it along Greg’s lips when he denied the taller man entry.

‘Not fair,’ Mycroft mumbled against him. Greg chuckled and pulled back but kept his arm around Mycroft. ‘Gregory.’

‘Yes?’

‘I want more,’ Mycroft whined.

‘It’s only been three days,’ Greg said, lowering his hand from the politician’s face. ‘Another four and you’ll get a grab.’

‘What, exactly, is a grab?’ Mycroft asked.

Greg smiled. ‘You’ll just have to wait and find out.’

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft whimpered and Greg grinned.

‘Four days, Mycroft.’

He cursed. ‘Who decided seven days should be in a week?’ He paused and looked down at Greg carefully. ‘You didn’t specifically say a whole week. What about a business week? That’s only five days.’

‘Seven days,’ Greg said and Mycroft sighed.

‘Fine, fine,’ he muttered. ‘Ruin my life.’

‘Bed,’ Greg smiled

Mycroft swore but followed him to the bed.

 

-oOo-

 

A few hours after falling asleep Mycroft hauled himself from bed. He stumbled into the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet before he was vomiting. He hurled up the contents of his dinner and groaned. His stomach twisted as it forced the food up. Mycroft shuddered, rubbing at his teary eyes. He felt his body clench again as the food forced its way up and splattered into the toilet.

He moaned again and fell to sit sideways, one elbow on the toilet and the other hand rubbing at his face. Soon there was nothing left in his gut to throw up but his body still tried, stomach acid burning his throat as he spat.

A few minutes passed before Mycroft felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He jumped and turned to see Greg. The DI looked tired but he smiled and sat down to hug and rub Mycroft’s back.

‘Thank you,’ Mycroft whispered.

‘You’re welcome,’ Greg answered.


	5. Day Four

**5: DAY FOUR**

It was another sleepless night. Greg sat up with Mycroft and eventually they moved into the lounge room to watch television. Mycroft curled up on Greg’s lap and managed to relax, his boyfriend rubbing a hand through his hair.

‘Breakfast?’ Greg asked and felt Mycroft flinch.

‘My stomach,’ he whispered. ‘Hurts.’

‘That’s okay, Myc,’ Greg said. ‘Just rest.’

‘But you said–’

‘You can skip breakfast this once,’ Greg said. ‘But lunch, okay?’

He felt Mycroft nod.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft managed to eat a piece of dry toast and half a biscuit. He rubbed at his stomach and looked up at Greg. Greg leaned forward carefully and kissed. They both kept it light but didn’t pull away for at least a minute.

‘Thank you,’ Mycroft said.

‘That’s okay,’ Greg said.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft could feel the nausea already, coiling in the pit of his stomach. He’d eaten at least an hour ago and had been hoping he’d be able to keep it down. But he could feel the food rolling in his gut.

He swallowed and tried to focus on the TV, knowing that Greg was watching. It was mid-afternoon, a bright day, and Mycroft didn’t understand why he felt so... so tense. He kept tapping his foot against the floor and a headache was building behind his eyes. He felt like something was very wrong but couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it was.

Mycroft wanted a drink. He felt his fingers curl and knew they were waiting for the glass he usually had in the afternoon. Right about now he’d be sitting at his desk enjoying a large glass of scotch... but not anymore. Mycroft was sober now.

He felt the muscles twitch in his arm as he curled his fingers again. He was exhausted but couldn’t sleep. There was... something was wrong.

‘Myc?’

Mycroft was sweating and jumped when Greg addressed him. He slithered back slightly and felt his headache flare behind his eyes, making him groan.

‘What is it?’

Mycroft blanked rapidly and curled both hands into fists. ‘Something... something’s wrong,’ he managed.

‘What?’ Greg asked.

He shook his head roughly and said, ‘I don’t know.’ He swallowed, his mouth dry. ‘I need a drink.’

‘I’ll get you some water,’ Greg said and made to move.

Mycroft flinched again. ‘No, no, I need a drink, a proper one.’

‘No you don’t,’ Greg said.

‘I do,’ he insisted. A drink would make it go away. Whatever was wrong would be okay, would go back to normal, if he had some alcohol. ‘Please, Gregory.’

‘Mycroft, no,’ Greg said. ‘You don’t need a drink.’

‘ _Please_ ,’ Mycroft begged and glanced around, trying to pinpoint what was wrong.

Greg sat back down and Mycroft flinched again. ‘Myc?’

He groaned and rubbed at his eyes, the headache getting worse. His muscles were aching and he was sweating.

‘Mycroft, you’re scaring me,’ Greg said.

‘Something... something’s wrong,’ Mycroft said again. ‘I don’t... I feel...’ He jumped up suddenly and ran to the bathroom, Greg following quickly. He threw up his meagre lunch and groaned, clawing a hand through his hair.

‘Mycroft,’ Greg said kneeling down beside him. Mycroft shuddered violently and threw up again, groaning, biting at his bottom lip. ‘Mycroft, what’s wrong?’

‘I don’t know,’ he whimpered. ‘Something... I can’t... I don’t feel well.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Greg said.

‘I feel,’ Mycroft said and blinked. ‘I feel so... so scared and out of control. I don’t understand.’ He shivered again.

‘Myc, I’m going to get my phone, alright?’

‘No, don’t leave!’ Mycroft gasped and grabbed him. He hauled Greg closer. ‘No, don’t.’

‘I need to call John.’

‘Don’t leave me,’ Mycroft said. ‘Please.’

He needed Greg to stay, to help. With Greg around Mycroft could control anything. Without him everything was lost.

‘Okay, I’ll stay,’ Greg said. ‘But soon I have to get my phone, alright?’

Mycroft just nodded and Greg rested a hand on his back. He threw up again and felt his stomach twist and churn violently. He began breathing heavily and his heart felt like it was trying to rip itself from his chest.

‘My heart is... it’s trying to get away,’ Mycroft said. ‘I’m dying.’

‘No you’re not.’

‘I am,’ Mycroft insisted. ‘I need... a drink.’

‘No you don’t.’

Mycroft shook his head and closed his eyes. It was almost two; usually he’d be having a drink.

‘I always have one,’ Mycroft said.

‘What?’

‘I always have... have a drink,’ Mycroft swallowed, ‘around now.’

Greg took a deep breath. ‘Mycroft, I need to get my phone.’

‘No,’ Mycroft said weakly but felt Greg pull away. His breathing got heavier and he groaned, clawing at the toilet. He remembered throwing up after being hungover. So many times he’d sat in this bathroom and felt like he was dying. Usually drinking combated that.

No, no, Mycroft couldn’t drink. He scrambled away from the toilet and fell into the hallway. He hit the wall and slid to the floor, panting. No, he couldn’t drink, he’d promised Greg. He was stronger than this, he could control the drinking. But everything was out of control and wrong and it hurt. A drink would take that away. _No_ , Mycroft told himself and shook his head. _No, no, no!_

‘John!’ Greg shouted into his phone and crouched before his boyfriend. ‘There’s something wrong with Mycroft.’

Mycroft was still panting as John said, ‘ _What is it?_ ’

‘He started freaking out and saying something was wrong. He was jumpy and twitching. Now he’s sweating and saying he’s dying.’

Mycroft mumbled, ‘I am, I am, something’s wrong, I don’t feel well.’

‘ _Okay,_ ’ John said slowly and Greg watched as Mycroft moaned and pulled at his hair. ‘ _Is he complaining of a headache or chest pains_?’

‘He said he was dying and his heart was trying to get away. And now he’s hyperventilating. He won’t tell me what’s wrong.’

‘ _Right, did he say anything like he was crazy?_ ’

‘No,’ Greg shook his head. ‘He just kept saying he usually had a drink around now and he needed one. He seems to think something’s wrong but can’t figure out what. Now he’s shaking and groaning, saying he’s dying and he doesn’t feel well.’

‘ _It sounds like a panic attack_ ,’ John said, ‘ _they’re common in alcohol withdrawal. Was he feeling nauseous before this?_ ’

‘No but he did eat about an hour ago.’

‘ _Okay, if he was feeling sick it probably reminded him of all the times he was hungover. That reminded him of the drinking which reminded him of how much of a control alcohol had on his life. So he began panicking, thinking he needed a drink and that he was going to fail you._ ’

‘A panic attack?’ Greg asked. ‘What do I do? Is it serious?’

‘ _You need to let it play out,_ ’ John said. ‘ _They usually don’t last more than then minutes, maybe an hour. Just help him get his breathing under control and don’t crowd him. Tell him he’ll be okay, make him drink something. I’m going to come over and make sure I’m right. It’s most likely a panic attack but I want to make sure it’s not something more serious._ ’

‘Okay,’ Greg said and swallowed. ‘Okay... thanks, John.’

‘ _I’ll see you soon,_ ’ John said.

Greg hung up. ‘Mycroft?’

The politician seemed to have calmed down a little and looked at Greg.

‘Are you okay?’

He shook his head roughly.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Something... wrong,’ Mycroft said.

‘Myc, you don’t need a drink,’ Greg said and tried to keep his voice calm. ‘Don’t worry. You won’t disappoint me because I know you’ll never drink again.’

Mycroft swallowed but didn’t say anything.

‘Myc, you have to believe me,’ Greg said. ‘You trust me, right?’ Mycroft nodded. ‘Trust me on this. You will be okay, alright? Now I want you to breathe slowly. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Do it with me.’

Greg breathed slowly and watched as Mycroft copied him. Soon his breathing was under control and he stopped twitching. Greg sighed in relief and moved closer to Mycroft.

‘You’ll be okay,’ he insisted.

‘Don’t leave me,’ Mycroft suddenly begged and grabbed his hand.

Greg squeezed his fingers tightly. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

 

-oOo-

 

John let himself in and found them in the hallway. He bent down and asked, ‘How do you feel?’

Mycroft just shook his head and his breathing increased a little.

‘Mycroft, breathe slowly,’ John said. ‘You’re okay, alright? I want you to tell me you’re okay.’

‘I’m not,’ Mycroft said.

‘You are,’ John replied firmly. ‘I’m going to prove that you are, alright? If you weren’t okay Greg would say so, wouldn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft said.

‘Because he loves you. Greg knows you’re okay.’

‘You are,’ Greg said even though he didn’t feel it.

‘Say it, Mycroft,’ John asked. ‘Come on, you know you’re okay.’

Mycroft looked at John carefully. ‘I’m... I’m okay.’

‘Good, now breathe,’ John said. ‘Take a deep breath through your nose and blow it out like you would a candle.’ Mycroft complied. ‘Now roll your shoulders and tense your muscles. When you breathe out let them relax.’ Mycroft followed his orders and felt the tightness in his chest uncoil.

‘I feel better,’ he said.

‘Good,’ John nodded. Greg marvelled at his strength and calm. He wanted to pull his hair out and scream but John was all casual and in-control. ‘I’m going to check your heart-rate,’ John said. ‘Please give me your hand.’

Mycroft did so carefully and John wrapped his fingers around his wrist. He looked at his watch and everything was silent for a minute. John let him go and pulled a stethoscope from the bag he was carrying.

‘Mycroft, I need you to lean forward, alright? Just a little bit so I can reach your back.’ Mycroft looked at him and John said, ‘Take deep breaths and hold Greg’s hand. You’ll be fine, I promise.’

Finally Mycroft nodded and leaned forward. He gripped Greg’s hand tightly as John pressed the stethoscope against his back.

‘Okay, now lean back,’ John said and Mycroft did. He put the stethoscope against his heart and listened carefully. ‘Your breathing and heart-rate are fine,’ he said and put the stethoscope away. He pulled out a tiny torch and said, ‘Look into the light.’ Mycroft did and John held up a finger. ‘Now follow my finger.’

A few seconds later he nodded in satisfaction and put everything away.

‘You’re fine, Mycroft,’ John said. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Scared,’ Mycroft admitted and swallowed.

‘Of what?’

‘I don’t know,’ the politician said. ‘Scared of... of needing a drink.’ He gulped and looked at Greg. ‘Scared of losing my boyfriend.’

‘That will never happen,’ Greg reassured him. ‘I love you.’

‘Go get him some water,’ John said and Greg nodded. He turned to Mycroft and asked, ‘Have you ever had a panic attack before?’

‘No,’ Mycroft said.

‘Is there a history of panic attacks in your family?’

Mycroft shook his head. ‘I don’t know if Sherlock’s ever had one.’

‘I’ll ask him later,’ John said. ‘Have you ever had surgery?’

‘Four times,’ Mycroft said.

‘Four times what?’ Greg asked when he came back with the water.

‘Surgery,’ Mycroft said.

‘What for?’ John asked again.

Mycroft took the glass of water Greg handed him with shaky fingers. He swallowed a mouthful before saying, ‘Three gunshot wounds; one to my shoulder, two to my arm. And a stab wound to my stomach.’

‘Okay,’ John said slowly and felt Greg tense beside him. Greg had seen the scars, of course, but had never really looked at them close enough. He suddenly hated himself; he was a cop, he should have recognised the wounds for what they were. He should have known this about Mycroft. ‘Were there any complications?’

‘No,’ Mycroft said.

‘Good,’ John said and took a deep breath. ‘Mycroft, there’s nothing to be scared of, okay? You have Greg and you’re strong; you don’t need alcohol. Say it with me.’

Mycroft licked his lips and said, ‘I... I don’t need alcohol.’

‘Again.’

‘I don’t need alcohol,’ they both said in unison.

Mycroft smiled weakly; he actually felt better.

‘Good,’ John said and leaned back so Greg could take the glass from Mycroft. ‘He’s fine; it was just a panic attack. But you need to keep an eye on him for a while. If it happens again or anything else happens give me a call. It’s probably just the withdrawal but you can never be too careful.’

‘Thanks, John,’ Greg said. ‘Is he going to be okay?’

‘He’s fine,’ John reassured them. ‘Panic attacks usually last no more than ten minutes. He’ll be back to normal in an hour.’ He turned to look at Mycroft and said, ‘Come on, let’s get you into the lounge room.’

He stood back and let Greg help Mycroft up. Mycroft clung to him and took deep breaths as Greg led him to the couch.

‘I’m going to go and make some tea, okay?’ Greg told Mycroft. The politician nodded and curled up slightly as Greg took John into the kitchen. ‘How do I tell if he’s having one?’ Greg asked. ‘Will he always... erm, freak out?’

‘He’ll start sweating,’ John said, ‘and twitching, jumping, thinking there’s something wrong. Ask him if his chest hurts or if he feels scared. If he says yes just make him relax; roll his neck, his shoulders, make him breathe like I did. And keep him away from anything that might induce panic. Stay away from alcohol mainly so don’t eat out at restaurants, at least not until he feels better.’

‘But he freaked out after eating,’ Greg sighed. ‘What if he always does that?’

‘The nausea will go away soon,’ John said, ‘he can’t avoid eating just because he might have a panic attack. I could prescribe diazepam; it helps with anxiety and insomnia. But there’s a high risk of addiction and I don’t want him substituting drugs for alcohol.’

‘So what can I do?’

‘Just keep an eye on him,’ John said, ‘help him relax. He’ll be fine, Greg.’

Greg sighed and flicked the kettle on. He rubbed at his eyes and leaned on the counter. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘Not a problem.’

‘No, really,’ Greg said. ‘I didn’t realise alcohol withdrawal would be this hard. Without you... thank you.’

John smiled. ‘It’s really not a problem, Greg. I’ve seen this all before.’

‘Sherlock was different,’ Greg said and looked across at Mycroft, who was staring at the TV without really paying attention. ‘When he got off the drugs he was angry all the time. Mycroft’s just... he’s quiet and doesn’t do much other than hug me.’

‘Sherlock didn’t have someone to take care of him,’ John said. ‘Mycroft has you.’

Greg smiled briefly. ‘Thanks John. I hope Mycroft can get through this.’

‘He will,’ John reassured him. ‘A week or two and he’ll be okay to go back to work. His assistant looks like she can handle him.’

Greg smiled as the kettle boiled. Once it was done he grabbed three cups and asked, ‘Do you want some tea before you go?’

‘Yeah, I haven’t stopped all day,’ John said as Greg shuffled about. ‘Haven’t had time for lunch.’

‘I can make you something,’ Greg said. ‘As thanks.’

‘Just a sandwich will do,’ John said and yawned.

Greg smiled, glad to have a friend like John Watson.

 

-oOo-

 

When John was gone, after much thanks from Greg, the DI sat himself down beside Mycroft. Mycroft pulled himself into him and sighed.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You have no reason to apologise.’

‘I lost control,’ Mycroft said. ‘I don’t know what happened.’

‘Panic attack.’

‘I’ve never had one before.’

‘It’s the alcohol withdrawal, Mycroft,’ Greg said. ‘But you’ll be fine.’

‘How can you know?’ Mycroft asked.

Greg pulled back to look at him carefully. He smiled and said, ‘I know you, Mycroft. You’re strong enough to get over this, alright? Trust me.’

‘I do,’ Mycroft said without hesitation. There was nobody he trusted more than Gregory Lestrade.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft actually felt tired enough to sleep. He dropped onto the bed and pulled the blanket over himself and Greg. Yawning, he closed his eyes and squeezed Greg’s hand. Suddenly he felt warm lips being pressed against his and opened his eyes slowly.

Greg smiled against Mycroft before pulling back. ‘Four days,’ he said.

Mycroft smiled and pulled Greg closer. ‘Without you that wouldn’t be possible.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Greg said and yawned. ‘Love you.’

‘I love you too,’ Mycroft smiled and closed his eyes.


	6. Day Five

**6: DAY FIVE**

Mycroft actually got some sleep and felt better the next day. He and Greg watched TV, talked, and just cuddled. Mycroft managed to avoid food until dinner and sighed when Greg placed the plate of chicken in front of him.

‘Just the chicken, Mycroft,’ he said and placed a bigger plate of food before himself. ‘Please try.’

‘What if...’ Mycroft bit his lip. He never wanted to have another panic attack. It had felt like he was dying, like at any minute the world would open up and swallow him. ‘I don’t want to,’ he managed.

Greg reached out and took one of his hands. ‘Breathe slowly,’ he said and Mycroft did. ‘Come on, Myc, you’re strong. You can do this.’

Mycroft looked at him carefully before letting go of his hand. He picked up his knife and fork and cut up the chicken. Slowly he raised a piece to his mouth and took it from the fork, chewing slowly. He tried to calm his beating heart as he ate.

When he was done Greg pulled him in for a soft kiss. He ran his fingers through Mycroft’s hair and let them drop to his lower back when they were done.

‘You’ll be fine,’ he insisted.

Mycroft just nodded.

 

-oOo-

 

He managed to keep the food down and grinned when they fell into bed. ‘Five days,’ he said happily and dragged Greg across the mattress. Greg chuckled and moved so he was on top of Mycroft. ‘Five days,’ he repeated.

‘Yep,’ Greg smiled and leaned down to kiss him.

It was far from soft. Mycroft’s lips crushed against his and Greg moaned. It had been two weeks since they’d had sex and Greg absolutely hated it. But he’d stick to his promise. That didn’t mean he couldn’t get hard and kiss Mycroft Holmes for all the man was worth.

Greg forced himself into Mycroft’s mouth and grabbed his arms, trying to pull his boyfriend in closer while at the same time pushing himself down. He wanted this to be earth-shattering, to leave them both panting and wanting more.

Mycroft moaned loudly and circled his arms around Greg’s back, holding onto him tightly. He pushed his crotch up and was satisfied to feel Greg’s erection pressing against his own. He knew Greg would keep to his word but he could at least try to get the man hot.

His eyesight going fuzzy from lack of oxygen, Greg finally had to break the kiss. He fell onto his back and kept a hand on Mycroft, feeling his boyfriend’s chest rise and fall with each rapid breath.

‘You’re killing me,’ he groaned and Mycroft chuckled.

‘All we did was kiss.’

‘Now I’m hard,’ Greg complained.

‘I can take care of that.’

‘No,’ Greg said but Mycroft was already moving.

‘You never said anything about me not being able to grab you now did you?’

Greg shook his head and Mycroft’s hand found his erection. He began rubbing it through Greg’s boxers and the DI groaned. ‘Mycroft, no.’

‘You never said I couldn’t touch you,’ Mycroft repeated. He shifted again and pressed his mouth to Greg’s shorts, licking at the silk that trapped his shaft.

‘Fuck,’ Greg moaned and pushed up. He wanted to stop Mycroft, to say no, but he hadn’t had sex in two weeks. And Mycroft was right; he hadn’t said anything about the politician not touching _him_.

Mycroft pulled Greg’s boxers down and wrapped a hand around the hot flesh, his fingers tingling from the contact. He couldn’t wait any longer and shifted to slip Greg’s cock into his mouth. They both moaned and Greg thrust up, Mycroft’s tongue running along his skin. He balled his hands into fists and bit his lip.

Mycroft needed more but knew Greg wouldn’t have sex, not yet. So he moved onto his hands and knees.

‘Can I touch myself?’ he asked after moving Greg from his mouth. He kissed at the head, licking away the pre-come. ‘Please?’

‘God yes,’ Greg moaned. ‘Yes, Mycroft.’

Mycroft pulled his pyjama pants down with one hand and took his own cock in his left. He wrapped his mouth back around Greg and pushed down, taking his boyfriend in completely.

Greg moaned again as Mycroft sucked, hollowing his cheeks and scraping his teeth along the sensitive skin. He pulled at his cock, using his own pre-come to slick himself up. The DI turned so he could watch Mycroft tug on his own cock. He reached forward and grabbed Mycroft’s shoulder, squeezing him tightly.

‘Fuck, Mycroft,’ Greg gasped and bit his lip.

Mycroft began sucking harder and pulled on his own cock tightly, moaning around Greg. He continued to take him completely, holding the base of Greg’s cock and squeezing. Greg thrust up lightly and squeezed his eyes shut.

Greg was so close to coming, they both were. Mycroft pulled on himself harder and sucked down, wanting Greg to come apart in his mouth.

Greg came first, shouting and panting as he emptied himself into his boyfriend’s mouth. He moaned as Mycroft drank it in, cleaning Greg with his tongue. He pulled back and gripped Greg’s leg with one hand, grunting as he jerked himself off.

‘Come for me,’ Greg said and squeezed his shoulder, watching Mycroft pant and moan. ‘Come, Mycroft.’

Finally Mycroft felt himself release. He moaned and pulled at his shaft softly, milking the climax as long as he could. His hand was sticky, as was Greg’s leg and the sheets. He sat panting as Greg pulled himself up and went to get a towel.

He cleaned himself and Mycroft up before getting clean sheets from the closet in the hallway. Greg managed to get Mycroft to his feet and strip the mattress.

Re-clothed and clean, Greg pulled the duvet over them both and leaned forward to kiss Mycroft, tasting himself on the younger man’s lips.

‘What was that for?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Thank you,’ Greg said.

‘But you said only one kiss a day unless I eat,’ Mycroft pointed out.

‘Well,’ Greg said and trailed a finger along his boyfriend’s chest. ‘Technically you ate something.’

Mycroft chuckled and drew him closer. ‘That’s disgusting.’

‘You’re the one who did it.’

‘Mm,’ Mycroft said and rested his cheek against Greg’s hair. ‘Thank you for letting me.’

‘I’ll always let you do that, Mycroft.’

‘I can’t wait another four weeks,’ the politician complained.

Greg chuckled. ‘We will, Mycroft.’

‘It’s torture.’

‘It’ll be worth it,’ Greg said. ‘Just watch.’

Mycroft mumbled something and closed his eyes, already drifting to sleep.


	7. Day Seven

**7: DAY SEVEN**

Mycroft was particularly jumpy two days later. It had been a full week. He was feeling a lot better. No more panic attacks, he could keep his food down, and he hadn’t craved a drink in 48 hours. There was also the little fact that Greg had promised him a grab if he made it a week without any alcohol.

He didn’t know what a grab was but it had to be something good. Greg had said a hand job after two weeks so that couldn’t be it. Was he going to touch him through his underwear? That little thought made Mycroft half-hard. Greg’s hand... on him... even through pants that would be good. He needed his boyfriend so badly it was making him anxious.

‘Are you okay?’ Greg asked. It was lunch and Mycroft was barely eating his food.

‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ Mycroft said, taking another bite of his sandwich.

‘Is it a panic attack?’ Greg asked, noting that Mycroft was twitching a bit.

‘No, not that,’ Mycroft insisted.

‘Then what?’ Greg asked. Mycroft bit his lip and he said, ‘Come on, Myc, tell me.’

With a small sigh, Mycroft said, ‘It’s been a week.’

‘And?’

Mycroft smiled tentatively and said, ‘It’s... you promised that after a week...’

He trailed off and Greg smiled. ‘Oh, right.’

‘What’s a grab?’ Mycroft asked. ‘Please tell me.’

‘Nope.’

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft whined and Greg chuckled. ‘Stop laughing and tell me.’

‘It’s one o’clock,’ Greg said and checked his watch. ‘We usually go to bed at midnight. You’ll have to wait eleven hours.’

‘No!’ Mycroft said and grabbed his hand. ‘Please tell me.’

‘Since when did you become so needy?’

‘Since you withheld sex,’ Mycroft pouted. ‘Three weeks, Gregory.’

‘And another four,’ Greg said.

Mycroft glared at him and pulled back, crossing his arms. ‘You hate me.’

‘No I don’t,’ Greg said and nudged him with his knee. ‘You love me and that’s why this is working. You won’t have a drink if you want sex.’

‘I want sex,’ Mycroft said, ‘and you’re not giving it to me.’

Greg grinned. Mycroft didn’t seem to realise that it was just as tough on him. He had been used to no sex before getting together with Mycroft and even five months after. But since then they’d had sex every opportunity they could. They both worked a lot and Mycroft was out of the country for sometimes weeks at a time but every night together they had sex.

But Greg couldn’t go back now, even if he got all hot and bothered every time Mycroft came near him. The blow job the other night had been fantastic and released some of the sexual tension they were both feeling. Greg just hoped he could make it four more weeks before combusting.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft began yawing, Greg suspected on purpose, around nine o’clock. He didn’t look tired but Greg smiled and turned off the TV. They brushed their teeth and Mycroft practically jumped onto the bed, turning to face Greg.

‘What’s a grab?’ he asked again.

Instead of talking Greg climbed onto the bed and pushed Mycroft back. He grabbed him through his thin pants and Mycroft gasped. He pushed up into Greg’s hand and Greg let him, feeling Mycroft go hard in a minute.

He continued stroking Mycroft and leaned down to kiss him, Mycroft’s lips soft and needy on his own. Mycroft opened his mouth and Greg plunged his tongue inside, revelling in the taste of toothpaste and Mycroft.

Greg was getting hard but ignored his own erection in favour of rubbing Mycroft’s. Mycroft panted against his lips and Greg broke the kiss to get some air. Finally he couldn’t handle just touching and pulled himself atop Mycroft. He pushed down, grinding his hips into his boyfriend.

Mycroft moaned and closed his eyes, biting at his lip to stop from shouting. Greg forced his lips open again and licked at his teeth, their erections rubbing together. Mycroft was pushing up harder now and it was all Greg could do to stop himself from ripping both their clothes off and pushing into Mycroft. He bit his own lip and groaned, rubbing himself harder and harder against his boyfriend.

Mycroft’s hands found Greg’s hips and his fingers dug into him deeply. Their hips crashed together and Greg bent his head, grunting as his cock strained at his pants.

‘Gonna... come...’ Mycroft groaned and his grip on Greg’s hips tightened.

‘Me too,’ Greg managed and pushed down harder.

Mycroft came first, thrusting himself up as he climaxed. He panted heavily and peeled his eyes open to look at Greg. A few more pushes and Greg was coming too, leaking into his pants and dropping to rest his head on Mycroft’s chest. They laid in silence for a few minutes, Mycroft playing with Greg’s hair and the DI rubbing twining their fingers together.

‘And that,’ Greg said, pulling himself up to look down at Mycroft, ‘was a grab.’

Mycroft chuckled. ‘I’m glad you consider that a grab.’

‘Mm,’ Greg said and kissed him softly.

‘You could have done that before we got into our pyjamas.’

‘All you do is complain,’ Greg said and pulled himself up. Mycroft smiled, following him.


	8. Day Eight

**8: DAY EIGHT**

Greg was nervous. It was Mycroft’s first day back at work. Seven o’clock found them both getting dressed and Greg watched Mycroft carefully.

‘I’ll be fine,’ Mycroft insisted. ‘A will be there and I won’t be around alcohol. If anyone suggests lunch or dinner A will make sure I don’t come into contact with alcohol.’

‘I’m still worried,’ Greg said. ‘What if you have another panic attack?’

‘A has been informed on how to handle me,’ Mycroft said and turned to face him. He did his tie up and said, ‘And she knows to call you and John if anything happens.’ Greg bit his lip and Mycroft smiled. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Greg’s waist. ‘I’ll be fine, okay? If I feel sick or feel like I’m slipping I’ll call you.’

‘Promise?’ Greg asked. ‘Because you Holmeses have the inability to understand your limitations.’

Mycroft chuckled and pressed a quick kiss to Greg’s lips. The DI seemed to have forgotten that he was only supposed to get one a day. ‘I promise, Gregory.’

‘Good,’ Greg said and hugged him tightly before letting go. ‘Now where are my pants?’

Mycroft laughed.

 

-oOo-

 

Nothing seemed different when Mycroft walked into his office. The only big difference was that he was sober. He sat down gracefully and pulled the stack of files towards him. A appeared seconds later and placed a strong cup of coffee on his desk.

‘How are you, sir?’ she asked and lowered her BlackBerry.

‘Better,’ he said and sipped from the cup. ‘Thanks to Gregory.’

‘I’m glad,’ she said. ‘Are you ready for work?’

‘I’m fine,’ he insisted.

‘Your first meeting is in three hours, sir,’ A said. ‘Can I get you anything else?’

‘No thank you...’

‘Emma,’ A said.

‘No A name?’ Mycroft asked with a raised eyebrow.

She smiled. ‘I thought I’d try something different.

Mycroft chuckled and said, ‘I’m fine, Emma.’

‘Very well, sir,’ she said and left him to his files.

 

-oOo-

 

Greg started his morning with a murder. The killer was obvious and by nine he found himself running through the streets of London chasing a twenty-year-old. He bashed his arm into the corner of a bakery and cursed but kept running, a dull pain spreading through his right side.

He caught a flash of the killer’s jacket and radioed Sally Donovan. ‘Running north, Sally, heading straight for you.’

‘ _Copy that_.’

Greg nearly slipped in a puddle of water and managed to right himself with only another scrape. He had almost caught up to the killer when a group of teenagers got in the way heading for school. The group scattered and some fell as Greg pushed through them. He stumbled from the group to find Sally hand-cuffing the youngster.

‘Getting old, Lestrade,’ she said as he bent over panting.

‘Shut... up...’ he managed and wiped at his sweaty face.


	9. Day Nine

**9: DAY NINE**

Mycroft’s day was long and hard and he didn’t get home until one. Usually he stayed longer but A was adamant he get some sleep. He found Greg curled up on his couch, files spread over his knees. He chuckled and leaned down to kiss him softly.

Greg woke with a yawn and kissed him back. ‘What’s the time?’

‘One,’ Mycroft said. ‘How’d you get in?’

‘Your assistant had a spare key sent to me,’ Greg said, ‘she knew I was worried.’

Mycroft smiled. ‘I like having you here.’

‘How was work?’ Greg asked and pulled himself into a sitting position.

‘The same as usual,’ Mycroft said. ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t have a panic attack and I didn’t feel like a drink either.’

‘Good,’ Greg said. ‘Dinner?’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Mycroft,’ Greg said.

‘I had lunch,’ Mycroft insisted. ‘Call A, she’ll tell you.’

‘You need dinner as well.’

‘No I don’t.’

‘I won’t kiss you if you don’t.’

Mycroft smiled and pulled his jacket off. ‘I don’t think that’s true.’

Greg narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. ‘Dinner and I’ll re-consider touching you again.’

Mycroft’s eyes lit up. ‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ Greg said. ‘You have dinner every night, as well as lunch, and I might just rub myself against you again. Maybe while naked.’

Mycroft swallowed as images of Greg naked ran through his mind. ‘I guess...’ he said slowly, ‘... that I could eat if you... if you considered... erm... that.’

Greg grinned. ‘Good,’ he said and stood. He went into the kitchen and pulled the fridge open, looking over the contents. There was actually food since Greg had stayed the past week and he pulled out ham, cheese and tomato. He grabbed the bread from the counter and began cutting everything up.

Mycroft watched him place the cheese on the bread with cubed ham and tomato. He added salt and pepper and went to the oven.

‘What are you making?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Just watch,’ he said and pulled open the door. He placed the four pieces of bread on and switched everything on a tray.

Greg refused to answer Mycroft’s questions so instead the politician wrapped himself around Greg’s shoulders and kissed at his neck. Greg smiled and kept his eyes trained on the food.

A few minutes later he pulled the toasted bread out. He dragged Mycroft over to the table and made him sit down before getting two glasses of water.

‘My dad used to make these for me,’ Greg said and picked up a piece carefully.

‘It looks very fattening,’ Mycroft commented.

Greg rolled his eyes. ‘Just try it, Mycroft.’ He bit into a piece and smiled, cheese stringing from his mouth to the toast.

Mycroft picked one up and bit into an edge. The cheese was hot and melted across his tongue. The ham was a nice touch and the tomato burst in his mouth. Added with the salt and pepper, as well as the crunchiness of the toast, it was...

‘This is fantastic,’ Mycroft said and took a bigger bite.

‘I knew you’d like it,’ Greg said.

Mycroft smiled and swallowed before taking another bite.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft ate three pieces and put the plate in the sink. He turned to kiss his boyfriend softly before asking, ‘Are you staying?’

‘Well, it _is_ two am,’ Greg said and put his hands on Mycroft’s chest. ‘And you’re so warm and lovely.’

Mycroft smiled and pulled Greg into the bedroom. They brushed their teeth and fell onto the bed together, a mess of limbs and lips.

Mycroft was already hard and found Greg’s hands pulling at his trousers, unbuckling his belt and forcing a warm hand down to cup him through his underwear. He moaned and rolled onto his back, taking Greg with him.

Greg pulled off his shirt and fiddled with Mycroft’s buttons. He finally got his silk shirt open and pressed their skin together, rubbing vigorously as he pulled at Mycroft.

‘Fuck,’ Mycroft moaned and captured Greg’s lips again. His tongue swiped along his lips and darted into Greg’s mouth. Greg gasped and squeezed Mycroft harder, rubbing himself against his own hand.

‘Don’t stop,’ Mycroft said.

‘I don’t plan to,’ Greg grunted into his mouth. He continued pushing and felt an orgasm coil in the pit of his stomach. He squeezed Mycroft harder and earned a loud groan as his boyfriend’s eyes fluttered shut.

They came within seconds of each other, Mycroft’s underwear going wet as he climaxed. They both moaned and Greg kissed Mycroft hard, biting at his bottom lip. When they stopped moving Greg rested against Mycroft, feeling the younger man’s heart beat through his chest. He shifted from Mycroft and kept his hand where it was, feeling his boyfriend go limp.

‘Thank you,’ Mycroft said and Greg looked up at him.

He smiled and said, ‘No problem.’

‘I’ll eat every minute of every day if you do that afterwards.’

Greg chuckled. ‘I don’t either of us could handle that.’

‘I dunno,’ Mycroft said and moved to kiss Greg softly. ‘A man could get used to that; you’re very good.’

Greg just smiled and pulled himself up to get changed.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft was called away early in the morning and Greg had breakfast alone. He looked around Mycroft’s flat and smiled. He really liked being there every morning and wondered if he should ask Mycroft if they could move in together.

But he decided it was too early; Mycroft was still getting healthy. He needed to have all the control he could get. Greg swallowed his bacon and smiled. Mycroft was getting better; that was all that mattered.


	10. Day Sixteen

**10: DAY SIXTEEN**

They didn’t see each other for another week, only managing quick phone calls and texts. Greg leaned back in his office chair and rubbed his eyes. He’d been up for the past two days trying to figure out the case. He’d just decided to call Sherlock when his mobile vibrated.

‘Lestrade,’ he said without checking the caller ID. He yawned loudly and heard a chuckle.

‘ _You’ve been up too long_.’

‘Well hello to you too,’ Greg smiled. ‘Have you been sleeping?’

‘ _I sleep when I must_ ,’ Mycroft said. ‘ _I miss you. I haven’t been getting my daily kiss_.’

‘I’ll just have to make it up to you when we see each other,’ Greg said. ‘How are you?’

‘ _I’m fine,_ ’ Mycroft said. ‘ _No alcohol and no boyfriend_.’

Greg smiled. ‘When can I see you?’

‘ _Now if you wish_.’

‘I have a case.’

‘ _I took the liberty of going over it_ ,’ Mycroft said. ‘ _It was the little brother of the victim’s girlfriend._ ’

‘What?’ Greg said. ‘How’d you get access to the case?’

Mycroft tutted. ‘ _I have access to everything. British Government, remember_?’

‘Are you admitting it?’ Greg asked.

‘ _I’ll never confirm that, Gregory._ ’

Greg chuckled. ‘So the girlfriend’s little brother?’

‘ _He thought the boyfriend was taking her away. Their father is abusive and the girl ran away. The brother felt betrayed and when they met up he killed him. It was an accident._ ’

‘Right, right,’ Greg said and closed the file. ‘I suppose I can arrest him tomorrow. I’m not looking forward to that, he’s only twelve.’

‘ _I’m sorry,_ ’ Mycroft said.

‘It’s not your fault,’ Greg yawned. ‘When can I see you?’

There was a tap on his office door and Greg chuckled. He got up to pull it open and smiled at his boyfriend. ‘Hi there.’

‘Hello,’ Mycroft smiled and hung up. He slipped his phone into his pocket and kissed Greg softly. Pushing Greg back into his office, Mycroft shut the door behind him, managing to lock it without turning away or breaking the kiss.

Greg smiled as he was backed up to his desk and forced to sit. Mycroft leaned over him and deepened the kiss, dropping his umbrella and holding Greg’s arms. Greg dropped his phone, not caring when it hit the floor. He grabbed Mycroft’s belt and unbuckled it before pulling at the zipper.

‘What are you doing?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Remember our deal?’ Greg said against his lips. He got Mycroft free and pulled out his cock, feeling it lengthen in his hand. Mycroft moaned against him. ‘It’s been two weeks.’

‘Mm-hmm,’ Mycroft managed and continued kissing him, his lips getting less controlled as he melted into Greg. ‘Keep going.’

Mycroft’s hands were on his thighs, squeezing tightly as Greg jerked him off. He moaned again and bit Greg’s lips.

‘Oi,’ the DI mumbled but smiled. Mycroft did it again and Greg chuckled. ‘Stop that.’

‘Don’t hear you complaining,’ Mycroft said and closed his eyes.

‘The _oi_ was my complaint.’

Mycroft didn’t answer, instead kissing Greg again before resting their foreheads together. He was fast approaching an orgasm and his mouth dropped open as he moaned again. Greg kissed at his jaw, running his tongue along Mycroft’s skin as he squeezed the hot flesh before him.

‘Feels... good...’ Mycroft managed and pushed forward. Greg halted his movements and Mycroft whined, moving again.

‘Come on,’ Greg smiled up at him. ‘What do you want?’

‘Why are you teasing me?’ Mycroft demanded.

‘Oh, ’cause you never tease me,’ Greg said.

Mycroft growled at him and continued thrusting, now fucking Greg’s hand. Greg just squeezed when the head of Mycroft’s cock passed through his fingers and Mycroft gasped.

‘Keep going,’ Greg said and reached down to thrust a hand into his pants. He moaned softly as he began touching himself and Mycroft opened his eyes. ‘Keep going, Myc,’ Greg commanded.

Mycroft complied and got a good rhythm going, biting his lip and watching Greg. Greg couldn’t get any good movements with his cock trapped but continued stroking and pulling at himself. The fact that he was holding Mycroft was enough to get him off and he was fast approaching climax.

‘I’m coming,’ Mycroft groaned and moved to kiss Greg. He gasped into him and swore, sucking at Greg’s lips as he came. He leaked all over Greg’s hand and shirt, continuing to thrust and whimper.

Greg pulled on himself harder and felt his balls constrict as an orgasm was pulled from him. He moaned and kissed Mycroft, who was panting into him. The politician fell back to sit in one of the chairs before the desk. Greg remained where he was, trying to control his breathing.

The realisation that he had come on both sides of his pants made him move. He grabbed some tissues and tried to clean himself up but it was a lost cause. Mycroft had come all over his shirt and pants and his underwear was wet.

‘Don’t I look pretty,’ he commented and heard Mycroft laugh.

‘You always look gorgeous,’ he said.

Greg rolled his eyes and handed Mycroft the tissues. After Mycroft had cleaned and zipped himself up, Greg asked, ‘So did you just come here for my fabulous body or is there more?’

Mycroft chuckled and stood. ‘I thought we could go back to your flat for a late dinner.’

‘Did you now?’ Greg asked.

‘Mm-hmm,’ Mycroft said and pulled him in for a light kiss. ‘Would that interest you?’

‘I dunno,’ Greg mumbled. ‘What else is there?’

‘My company and food isn’t good enough for you?’

Greg smiled. ‘What kind of food?’

‘Whatever you want.’

‘Dinosaur.’

Mycroft sighed. ‘What am I going to do to you?’

‘Ravish me.’

‘I wish.’

Greg smiled and kissed him softly. ‘Three weeks, Myc.’

‘Too long.’

Greg grabbed his coat and pulled it on. He bent down to get his phone and Mycroft sighed. Greg stood and turned slowly, raising an eyebrow.

‘What?’

‘Were you checking out my arse?’

Mycroft smiled and colour tinged his pale cheeks. ‘Maybe.’

‘Come on,’ Greg smiled and unlocked the door. ‘Food, kissing and bed.’ He looked down at himself as he locked his office door. ‘And maybe a shower.’

‘Together?’ Mycroft asked.

Greg shook his head. ‘No way, I don’t trust you.’

‘What am I going to do?’ Mycroft asked.

‘I know you, Mycroft Holmes,’ Greg said. ‘One look at me naked and you’ll completely lose it.’

‘That was way too much information.’

They both stopped and turned to see Sally Donovan sitting at her desk. She smiled briefly.

‘Er, sorry,’ Greg said and felt his cheeks turn red. He pulled his coat around his body, trying to hide the very obvious stains on his front. Mycroft just smiled politely.

‘Sergeant Donovan, lovely to see you.’

‘You too, Mr Holmes,’ she said stiffly and looked at Greg. ‘Heading home, sir?’

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘The case is closed, you should go home too.’

‘What?’ she said. ‘You figured it out?’

‘Not me,’ Greg said and nodded at Mycroft.

‘Huh?’

‘He’s smarter than Sherlock,’ Greg said and Mycroft tutted. He smiled and said, ‘And polite. He figured out it was the little brother.’

‘Do you have any proof?’ Sally demanded.

‘Don’t trust me?’ Mycroft asked.

‘No.’

He smiled again. ‘The stab wound suggests somebody of small stature who snuck up behind the victim. The weapon was a screwdriver and the brother is heavily into building. There were paint flecks on the victim; again from the brother. Also, the fifty-seven calls he placed to his sister’s mobile in the three days she and her boyfriend were missing raises some concern, I thought you would have looked into that. They met at the park the brother and sister frequented when they were younger. The brother grew enraged when he saw the boyfriend and used the screwdriver he had in his overalls.’

Mycroft went quiet and Sally stared at him. Greg smirked as she cleared her throat and asked, ‘Overalls?’

‘I can tell,’ Mycroft smiled. ‘Go through his room and you’ll find them. He probably tried to use bleach or some other product to get rid of the stains.’

Sally stared at Mycroft before looking at her boss. ‘Is he serious?’

‘Very,’ Greg smiled and wrapped an arm around his waist.

‘Right,’ Sally said. ‘Well, I can see that he’s definitely related to the Fre– erm, to Sherlock Holmes.’

She could see the scowl forming on Greg’s face when she’d started saying the Freak. Mycroft didn’t look particularly happy either and she cleared her throat again.

‘Right, right. Erm, thank you, Mr Holmes. Have a good night, sir.’

‘Donovan,’ he said and steered Mycroft towards the elevators. They waited in silence and when they got in Mycroft kissed him softly. ‘What was that for?’

‘For saying I’m smart,’ Mycroft said. ‘And for stopping her from calling my brother ‘the Freak’.’

‘I didn’t stop her.’

‘You did,’ Mycroft said. ‘She was about to say it but knew it would upset you so she stopped. Thank you for that.’

Greg smiled and gave him a quick kiss. ‘And thank you for coming over.’

Mycroft chuckled and pulled him from the elevator.


	11. Day Seventeen

**11: DAY SEVENTEEN**

Mycroft woke up in Greg’s bed and turned to face him. Greg was still asleep and he smiled softly, just drinking in his appearance. There was nothing he liked more than waking up next to Gregory Lestrade.

He briefly wondered what it would be like living with the DI. Greg had stayed with him for a week and while there had been tough moments due to the withdrawal, it had mostly been wonderful. He decided that when he had better control of his drinking he’d ask Greg to move in with him.

Mycroft still ached for a drink. He’d been working hard and that coupled with missing Greg meant he’d barely thought about it. But just before drifting to sleep (when he actually did sleep) a pang of need would spear through him and he’d daydream about scotch or wine, even vodka; the smoothness of it running down his throat, the cold glass in his hand, the happy buzz that followed copious amounts of alcohol intake.

Mycroft blinked and shook his head. He shouldn’t think about alcohol, he was doing well. He didn’t need it. He had his job and his health and most importantly he had Gregory. Yawning, Mycroft turned over, pressing himself closer to Greg. He closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft’s BlackBerry woke Greg from a deep sleep and Mycroft from his light tossing and turning. He pulled himself across Greg and answered with a light, ‘Holmes.’ Greg trailed his hands down Mycroft’s shirt as he said, ‘Yes, I’ll be ready when Justin gets here. Thank you.’

He hung up and turned to look at Greg.

‘Work?’

Mycroft nodded and said, ‘I’ll be gone a while.’

‘How long?’

‘Possibly two weeks.’

Greg groaned as Mycroft pulled himself from bed. He started getting dressed, Greg watching him. He turned as he pulled on his waistcoat.

‘I’ll call when I can.’

‘Alright,’ Greg said as Mycroft leaned down to kiss him. ‘I love you.’

‘Love you too,’ Mycroft said and smiled as he took his jacket from the end of the bed. ‘Stay safe.’

‘You too,’ Greg said. ‘And call if you need anything, alright?’

Mycroft nodded and slipped into his jacket. He kissed Greg again before leaving, his boyfriend falling back and curling into the spot Mycroft had vacated. Greg breathed in his scent and sighed when he heard the front door shut. **  
**


	12. Day Twenty-Four

**12: DAY TWENTY-FOUR**

Greg didn’t hear from Mycroft once during his absence and began to panic. What if he was in hospital? What if he’d had a drink? Greg cursed and ended the call once he got Mycroft’s voicemail. One whole goddamn week and counting.

There was a knock on his office door. ‘What?’

Sally entered and said, ‘What’s up with you?’

‘Nothing,’ he sighed. ‘What is it?’

‘Need your signature,’ she said and crossed the office. He took the file and glanced over it before signing, giving it back to Sally. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Lestrade,’ she sighed.

‘Nothing,’ he repeated and stood. ‘I’m going for lunch.’

‘Lestrade,’ Sally said but he ignored her, heading out.

 

-oOo-

 

He bought a packet of cigarettes and sat outside a small cafe, smoking and eating a box of chips. He tried Mycroft again before moving on to A. She didn’t answer either and he cursed. Greg finally texted Mycroft again before slamming his phone on the table. ‘Sorry,’ he said to an elderly couple who’d jumped and glanced at him.

Greg shoved a heap of chips into his mouth and chewed, imagining a few unpleasant scenarios in which he beat Mycroft to within an inch of his life.

His phone vibrated and Greg scooped it up. It was a text from Anthea, or whatever her name was, and Greg opened it quickly.

 

_At the hospital, everything is fine. Will call soon._

_MH_

Greg glared at the phone. Everything was fine? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Hospital, what hospital? Greg cursed and texted back.

 

_What the bloody hell do you mean?_

_Greg_

There was no answer and Greg swore softly. Mycroft Fucking Holmes.

He was too nervous to finish his lunch and smoked another four cigarettes before his phone rang. He grabbed it and answered, ‘Mycroft?’

‘ _Everything’s fine, love_ ,’ Mycroft said quickly. ‘ _I’m sorry I haven’t called but I’ve been busy._ ’

‘Are you in hospital?’ Greg demanded. ‘What happened? Are you alright?’

‘ _I’m fine,_ ’ Mycroft insisted. ‘ _A few scrapes and bruises but otherwise I’m okay._ ’

‘Then why are you in hospital?’

‘ _Anita broke her arm_ ,’ Mycroft explained. ‘ _I’m just making sure she’s alright._ ’

‘Oh,’ Greg said softly. ‘Tell her sorry. Is she... is she okay?’

‘ _Yes, she’s broken bones before, Gregory. And I made sure the men responsible got what they deserved._ ’

‘What happened?’ Greg asked.

‘ _I’ll explain everything when I see you. I’ll be at your flat around ten o’clock, is that alright?_ ’

‘Yeah that’s fine,’ Greg said.

‘ _I’m sorry I didn’t call._ ’

‘No worries.’

‘ _I love you, Gregory, but I have to go._ ’

‘Yeah, ’kay,’ Greg said. ‘Myc, are you sure you’re alright?’

‘ _Absolutely,_ ’ Mycroft said. ‘ _I’ll see you tonight_.’

‘Bye,’ Greg said and Mycroft hung up. He cursed loudly and dropped his mobile. ‘Sorry,’ he said again to the old couple. He lit another cigarette and took a long drag, leaning back in his seat and blowing smoke above his head.

Mycroft Fucking Holmes.

 

-oOo-

 

As soon as he opened the door Greg grabbed his boyfriend, hauling him in close. He kissed Mycroft roughly before pulling back to look him over. His forehead and right cheek were darkly bruised and he had a long cut along his nose. His knuckles were also bruised and scabbed. Greg ran his hands over Mycroft’s chest, searching for any other injuries.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Fine,’ Mycroft insisted. ‘Just some light bruising.’

‘What happened?’ Greg demanded before hauling him closer for another kiss. They broke apart and Mycroft smiled.

‘A small disagreement,’ he said.

‘And your assistant got her arm broken?’

‘She defended me,’ Mycroft said, ‘and was harmed in the process. I made sure the men were severely punished.’

Greg didn’t want to think about that and kissed Mycroft again. Mycroft groaned against him and Greg pulled back. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘And it’s just your face and hands?’

‘My chest is a little bruised but I’m quite alright.’

‘Good,’ Greg said. He slammed his door shut and dragged Mycroft into his bedroom.

‘Gregory?’ he questioned before he was forced roughly onto the bed. Greg stripped him of his shoes, socks, trousers, and underwear. Mycroft was half-hard from all the kissing and Greg immediately grabbed his cock. He groaned as Greg took him in completely, sucking hard.

Mycroft pulled his tie free and slipped from his jacket and waistcoat, his hands too shaky to work the buttons of his shirt. He left it on as Greg ran his teeth along Mycroft’s shaft.

Greg pulled back and opened his top drawer. He grabbed a bottle of lube and turned back to Mycroft, whose eyes had lit up.

‘We missed our last appointment,’ Greg smirked. ‘Remember?’

‘Three weeks a blow job,’ Mycroft said before swallowing, ‘and four weeks you... you...’

‘Make you come with my fingers,’ Greg smiled. He squeezed lube onto his fingers and said, ‘There aren’t five full weeks in a month so I thought I’d skip ahead. Is that okay?’

Mycroft nodded quickly and Greg grinned.

‘Lie back.’

Mycroft shifted up the bed and spread his legs. Greg climbed onto the mattress and pushed at Mycroft’s entrance, making him whimper in anticipation. He lifted his arse slightly to give Greg better access. Suddenly a finger was inside him and Mycroft groaned, pushing down. He wanted more Greg, more pushing and heat. Just more.

Greg took Mycroft’s cock in his mouth again and licked at him as he pushed another finger in, Mycroft shaking beneath him. Mycroft’s hands came up to thread through the DI’s hair, pushing him down harder.

Greg moved quickly, his head bobbing up and down on Mycroft’s cock as he slipped a third finger into his boyfriend. He curled them to touch Mycroft’s prostate and heard him gasp.

‘Please...’ Mycroft moaned, ‘...again.’

Greg slipped his fingers out and pushed them back in, once more brushing against Mycroft’s prostate.

‘Harder,’ Mycroft begged.

Who was Greg to refuse? He jammed his fingers back in and soon had Mycroft writhing about and pulling at his hair. Greg felt his own cock go hard and strain against his pants, leaking into his underwear but he’d deal with that later.

He thrust his fingers in and out of Mycroft, hitting his prostate each time. He felt Mycroft clench beneath him and sucked again, hollowing his cheeks. Mycroft came with a loud curse and his fingers gripped Greg’s hair. He moaned and pushed up again, emptying himself into Greg’s mouth.

Greg swallowed everything and pulled back once Mycroft went limp. He pulled his fingers out and smiled as he went to get some tissues. Cleaning his fingers, Greg wiped at Mycroft before sitting back to smile at him.

Mycroft was panting and pulling at his shirt. He unbuttoned it to breathe easier and smiled weakly at Greg.

‘You’re welcome,’ Greg said and stood. ‘Now I need some food.’

‘No,’ Mycroft whined and raised a hand without moving. ‘Come back here.’

‘Why?’

‘Please,’ Mycroft said.

Greg sat back down scooted over so he was lying beside his boyfriend. ‘Yes?’

‘There’s something I need to do for you, Gregory,’ Mycroft said and ran his fingers along Greg’s shirt-clad torso.

‘And what would that be?’ Greg asked.

‘Well, _you_ just did a very special thing for me,’ Mycroft said and continued to rake his hands along Greg. ‘And like all good politicians I note when people do things for me.’

‘And?’ Greg said, shivering when Mycroft’s hand trailed down to the bulge in his pants.

Mycroft smiled and ran his fingers very lightly across Greg’s trousers. Greg gasped and pushed up but Mycroft’s hand was already gone.

‘Mycroft,’ he groaned.

‘Mm?’ Mycroft replied, seemingly fascinated with the edge of Greg’s shirt.

‘Stop teasing me.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Mycroft asked. His blue eyes were very wide and innocent and Greg snorted. He’d gone from horny to strung-out to innocent in five minutes.

‘Mycroft, I’m warning you,’ Greg said.

‘Yes?’

Greg moved onto his side and swung a leg around Mycroft’s, rubbing up and down provocatively. It would have worked a lot better if Mycroft hadn’t just gotten off.

‘Stop teasing me,’ Greg repeated.

‘Gregory, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,’ Mycroft said. He pushed his knee up and brushed along Greg’s erection, making him groan.

‘Mycroft!’ he shouted and the politician grinned.

‘Yes?’

‘If you don’t suck me off right now I’m gonna rip your head off!’ Greg growled.

Mycroft grinned. ‘Very well, Detective Inspector.’ He moved quickly and straddled Greg’s hips. He pushed forward, rubbing his crotch against Greg’s. Greg groaned and pushed up, the sudden friction making him pant with need.

‘My-Mycroft,’ he moaned.

‘Yes?’

‘Please,’ Greg whimpered.

‘I can’t hear you,’ Mycroft said.

‘Mycroft,’ Greg tried again and opened his eyes, ‘please take my cock in your mouth and make me come.’

‘Are you sure?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Yes!’ Greg shouted.

Mycroft smirked. He moved down Greg’s legs and pulled at his trousers. They came free and Mycroft took Greg’s cock from his boxers. He played with it for a minute, enjoying Greg’s squirming and curses and panting lust. At last he bent down and took Greg in his mouth.

Greg moaned and said, ‘Finally.’

Mycroft chuckled around him and bent down further to get a better angle. He sucked Greg quickly and cupped his balls, feeling them tighten in his grip. Greg wasn’t too far from an orgasm and Mycroft pulled back to tease him again.

He licked at Greg’s head, cleaning away the pre-come before trailing kisses along his shaft. He licked at his balls and moved back up to the head.

‘Jesus, Mycroft,’ Greg whimpered and bit his lip. ‘Please, please, please.’

‘Please?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Fuck you,’ Greg groaned and pushed up. He slipped into Mycroft’s mouth again and Mycroft let him. Greg was fucking his mouth but only half his shaft went in. Mycroft smiled and pulled back again, Greg dropping onto the bed heavily. ‘Mycroft!’ he shouted.

Mycroft smiled. He was enjoying this, the teasing. He’d missed it. So much of his control had been taken away by the alcohol and withdrawal. But right there, right then, he controlled something important; Greg’s pleasure.

On some level Greg knew that but the need to get off was overcoming any thoughts of Mycroft’s need to be in control. He glared at his boyfriend.

‘Yes, Gregory?’

‘Please,’ Greg begged again.

‘Please what?’

‘Let me fuck your mouth.’

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. They’d never gone there before. Sure, there had been times when one or the other would thrust into their partner’s mouth. But really, completely giving himself over...

Mycroft shifted back and slipped off the bed. He knelt beside it and looked up at Gregory. When his boyfriend failed to move Mycroft raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you wanted to fuck my mouth?’

Greg moved immediately and hovered before Mycroft on his knees. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

Mycroft nodded quickly. ‘Please.’

The role reversal wasn’t lost on either of them and Greg smiled. ‘Unlike you, Mr Holmes, I don’t tease.’

‘I doubt that, Detective Inspector Lestrade.’ He couldn’t say anymore as Greg forced his cock into his mouth. He began thrusting softly, letting Mycroft get used to the invasion. Mycroft groaned and reached up to grab Greg’s hips. He needed some type of control and his fingers were tight, digging into Greg’s flesh and pulling him in.

Greg’s thrusts got faster and harder until the tip of his cock was hitting the back of Mycroft’s throat and going deeper. Mycroft fought his gag reflex and closed his tearing eyes. Greg was cutting off his breathing with every thrust but when he pulled back Mycroft sucked in air.

Greg gripped Mycroft’s hair tightly and moaned, throwing his head back. He’d never done this with Mycroft and savoured it, knowing Mycroft wouldn’t let it happen often. He was all about control... but maybe Mycroft would do this to Greg.

He moaned again and looked down as his thrusts got even harder. Mycroft choked and Greg pulled back swiftly. But Mycroft dug his nails in and kept Greg moving, looking up to let his boyfriend know he was okay.

A few more thrusts and Greg was coming, shuddering as he shot his load straight down Mycroft’s throat. The politician gulped a few times before Greg was sliding out, dropping back onto his legs and feet, panting.

Mycroft wiped at his mouth, his throat feeling sore. That was new.

‘Are you okay?’ Greg managed to ask.

‘Yes,’ Mycroft croaked and cleared his throat. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Sorry,’ Greg said. ‘But you’re a teasing bastard.’

Mycroft smiled and stood, feeling slightly shaky. ‘I need food.’

‘Really?’ Greg asked.

‘Yes, is that so hard to believe?’

‘Usually you don’t want to eat.’ Mycroft bit his lip and looked away, making Greg groan. ‘Mycroft, how long’s it been since you ate?’

He didn’t answer, instead escaping with his trousers into the living room. Greg stumbled off his bed and grabbed a pair of pyjama shorts before trailing after Mycroft. He was standing before the fridge, staring at the meagre collection of food.

‘We can order pizza,’ Greg said. ‘I know a 24 hour place.’

Mycroft nodded and left Greg to order. He sat on the couch and flicked on the TV, not really paying attention but staring at it intently when Greg dropped onto the couch beside him.

‘Is supreme okay?’ Greg asked.

‘Mm,’ Mycroft replied.

‘Mycroft–’

‘Shh, I’m watching this,’ Mycroft said.

Greg looked up at the Asian game show. ‘You speak Chinese?’

‘Mandarin,’ Mycroft corrected. ‘And yes, I do.’

‘And you’re suddenly completely enthralled by a bunch of people throwing themselves into goo?’

‘Yes, it’s a passion of mine,’ Mycroft said. ‘I’m sorry you had to find out this way.’

‘Mycroft,’ Greg sighed.

‘Shh, watching my passion,’ Mycroft said.

‘Fuck your passion,’ Greg said and took the remote, flicking the TV off. ‘How long since you had something to eat?’ Mycroft refused to look at him. ‘Do you want me to call your assistant?’

He sighed. ‘I should fire her.’

‘You won’t because she’s excellent at her job,’ Greg said. ‘Now do I have to call her or are you going to tell me the truth?’

Finally Mycroft turned to look at him. ‘A week.’

Greg’s jaw dropped open. ‘You haven’t eaten in a week?’

‘I’ve been busy.’

‘What kind of excuse is that?’

‘I forgot,’ Mycroft said.

‘You don’t forget to eat, not for a _week_ ,’ Greg sighed. He cursed and rubbed a hand through his hair. Just like the alcohol, Greg had always worried about Mycroft’s weight. He barely ever ate anything and used his trips away as an excuse not to eat a damn thing. Greg badly wanted to discuss it but Mycroft was fragile enough.

The whole teasing act in the bedroom had proven to Greg that Mycroft was looking for control. He needed it to function. It was why he lived the way he did, why he had the job he had, and why the alcoholism had affected him so deeply. He was so scared of losing control. The only time he let go was in the bedroom.

Now wasn’t the time to bring up the lack of eating. He sighed and picked up Mycroft’s hand.

‘Myc, please don’t do that.’

‘Why?’

‘It worries me.’

‘I’m fine.’

Greg glared at him. ‘Do you remember the other times you said that to me?’ he demanded. ‘After drinking five glasses of wine? And getting fucking arrested and heaving your guts up? Remember that?’ Mycroft nodded. ‘Don’t ever say you’re fine when you’re not, Mycroft Holmes. Don’t, please, not to me.’

Mycroft looked away, unable to stand the hurt in Greg’s eyes. He knew not eating for a week was bad but really... it was _fine_.

‘I’m sorry,’ Mycroft said. And he was. Not for the not eating for a week but for making Greg worry.

Greg knew what he meant and sighed. He flicked the TV back on and settled against his boyfriend to watch the Asian game show.

‘Gregory?’ Mycroft asked after a minute.

‘Mm?’

‘Can we watch something else?’

‘Nope,’ Greg said. ‘Sorry you have to find out this way but I have a passion for Asian men.’

‘But–’

‘Shh, watching my passion.’

Mycroft groaned and Greg smiled.


	13. Day Thirty

**13: DAY THIRTY**

A few days later Mycroft found himself in a five star restaurant. He felt slightly nervous for two reasons. In one day it would be a full month of being sober. And Greg had promised sex. Finally, after seven weeks, they’d have sex again. Mycroft was thrilled and nervous.

He was thrilled for sex but nervous because he was surrounded by alcohol. He’d managed to avoid lunches and dinners with contacts but suddenly he found that he couldn’t refuse. He was dining with five very important men and he couldn’t say no to a dinner invitation.

All around him people were drinking expensive wine and bourbon, all of it calling out to Mycroft and begging to be drunk. He could almost taste the bitter bourbon in his mouth, the way it would slide down his throat and leave a very distinct aftertaste.

In normal settings, with friends, it would be perfectly fine for Mycroft not to drink and even admit that he was a recovering alcoholic. But these people weren’t Gregory and they weren’t John and Sherlock. Unlike his real friends, these men would see Mycroft’s dependence on alcohol as a weakness. And while it was, Gregory, Sherlock and John understood and didn’t think any differently of Mycroft or his ability to do his job.

Anthea was the only work colleague who understood because she cared about Mycroft. The politician didn’t need his condition getting out. It would call all his work into question and even his job. And the last thing he wanted was to lose the job he had worked so hard for.

He swallowed and stood to greet the first guest, a man he knew as Mr O’Neal.

‘Holmes, delightful to see you again,’ O’Neal smiled and shook his hand.

‘Likewise,’ Mycroft said, knowing O’Neal liked him no more than Mycroft liked the posh man. ‘How are you?’

He spent a few minutes pretending to listen to O’Neal as he tried to ignore all the alcohol. He wanted to call Gregory; his boyfriend’s voice would help him forget about his need for a drink. But he couldn’t excuse himself to gush to his boyfriend.

Another contact arrived and Mycroft left them to speak, only joining the conversation when he had to.

‘Are you alright, Holmes?’ O’Neal asked when the remaining men had been seated. ‘You look pale.’

‘I’ve been a little under the weather lately,’ Mycroft said and cleared his throat. ‘But I assure you I am feeling quite well.’

O’Neal smiled and one of the other men, Brennan, asked about the recent fights in California. They chatted softly before a waiter appeared for their drinks.

They all ordered alcohol and Mycroft was the last person the waiter turned too. ‘A glass of red wine and water please,’ he said and the waiter scurried off.

‘No scotch?’ Cameron asked and Mycroft gave him a tight-lipped smile.

‘Trying to watch my intake,’ he said.

Cameron raised an eyebrow but turned away when Mycroft didn’t elaborate. The waiter was under strict orders to substitute Mycroft’s wine for juice or something else that looked like wine. He was being paid handsomely for his services and discretion. There was no way Mycroft was going to risk even one glass of wine. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop and couldn’t bear to disappoint Gregory.

Their drinks arrived and Mycroft sipped his hesitantly. He sighed in relief when he tasted very strong raspberry cordial.

‘Everything alright?’ Demier, a fellow politician, asked.

‘Yes,’ Mycroft said, ‘I was just looking forward to a drink; rough day.’

‘Ah, you’ve always been a lover of wine,’ the fifth man, Carter, commented. Mycroft and Carter had known each other since university but rarely saw each other.

‘Yes,’ Mycroft said and shifted in his seat. Surely the men had to have noticed how much alcohol he had once ingested. He remembered having four glasses at lunch regularly. Either the men had figured Mycroft could really hold his alcohol or they hadn’t cared enough to comment.

Mycroft swallowed down more cordial as the night wore on, sipping his water every few mouthfuls. The waiter had had to mix it strong to make the cordial look like wine and it was killing his tastebuds. They ordered dinner and it came quickly. Mycroft ate most of his chicken schnitzel to avoid talking and once again his actions were commented upon.

‘You don’t usually eat so much,’ Cameron said and checked his mobile. As usually it was vibrating and he sent off a quick text.

‘Haven’t had a chance to eat today,’ Mycroft said and pushed the remaining chicken around his plate. ‘You know how it is.’

‘Working hard being the British Government?’ O’Neal chuckled.

Cameron glared at him and Mycroft sipped his water. ‘You know that’s not true,’ he said even though all five men knew it was very true. ‘I assure you I am in no way secretly doing Mr Cameron’s job.’

Cameron looked at him carefully and Mycroft gave him a smile. He was always ready to give Cameron full-proof plans and advise him on emergencies. But at the end of the day it was Cameron who gave the okay. Mycroft was perfectly happy being his shadow. He didn’t want all the limelight and stress that came with the man’s job.

They spent the remainder of the night chatting about politics and world crisis that they all had a certain hand in. Mycroft’s phone buzzed around eleven and he slipped it from his pocket.

 

_Anthea called me, she’s worried. Don’t worry you don’t need to drink. Call me if you need to, okay? I love you._

_Greg_

_x_

 

Mycroft smiled and slipped his phone away. Trust A to call Greg and fret about him. He felt a swell of warmth in his chest and suddenly found it easier to ignore all the alcohol.

‘What’s got you so cherry?’ Demier asked. He was on his fifth wine and tipsy. ‘Got yourself a girlfriend?’

Mycroft smiled as O’Neal said, ‘No way, boyfriend. Holmes is definitely gay.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Brennan cut in. ‘I’ve seen all kinds hit on Holmes and he never goes for it.’

‘So asexual?’ Carter asked.

Suddenly all five men were looking at him and he blinked.

‘Sorry?’

‘Well...’ Brennan said slowly, ‘what are you? Gay?’

‘Straight?’ Carter cut in.

‘Asexual?’ Demier prompted.

Mycroft sighed. Drunken politicians were always so annoying.

‘Leave him alone,’ Cameron said, ‘it’s none of our business.’

He smiled. David Cameron was always a good sort. While Mycroft didn’t care who knew his sexuality he didn’t like discussing his personal life. But they were drunk, besides Cameron who never allowed himself to go over two drinks, and they wouldn’t stop hounding him. And if he told them he was in a serious relationship at least Brennan would stop hitting on him.

‘I’ve been in a very good relationship for almost eight months,’ he said slowly, carefully. ‘Gregory is a very generous and lovely man.’ He looked at each of them pointedly before saying, ‘I’m gay.’

O’Neal slapped the table and said, ‘I knew it!’

‘Damn it,’ Carter sighed. ‘I owe my assistant a hundred quid.’

Mycroft chuckled. ‘Betting on my sexuality?’

‘Don’t act so surprised,’ Carter smiled. ‘We bet on everything. Got one going with Gillard in Australia about your assistant.’

‘Is she gay?’ O’Neal demanded. ‘Please tell me it isn’t so.’

Mycroft smiled. ‘Do you realise what she’d do if she found out about this?’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Cameron said and smiled into his wine. ‘She probably already knows.’

Mycroft laughed. ‘You’re right about that.’

‘You’re a lucky man, Holmes,’ Demier said and downed the rest of his drink. ‘If my assistant were half as good as her I’d be set.’

‘I also owe Michaels twenty pounds,’ Carter mused. ‘Bet him you were sleeping with her.’

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sipped his drink.

‘So what does Gregory do?’ Cameron asked.

‘He’s a detective inspector with Scotland Yard,’ Mycroft answered. ‘He’s been in the paper a lot.’

‘Last name?’ Cameron asked. No doubt he’d be checking to make sure Mycroft hadn’t revealed any secrets.

‘Lestrade.’

‘Wait, is he the silver-haired fox who worked those serial suicides?’ Brennan asked.

‘Yes, that is Gregory,’ Mycroft nodded. ‘I met him through my brother.’

‘Hmm,’ Brennan hummed, probably thinking about Greg. Mycroft glared at him.

‘Relax, ladies,’ Cameron chuckled.

Mycroft smiled.


	14. Day Thirty-One

**14: DAY THIRTY-ONE**

Soon it was two in the morning and Mycroft wanted to go home. He was tired and missing his flat, his bed, his boyfriend. Plus there was the alcohol. The sweet, sweet alcohol that was calling to Mycroft from all directions. The stress of the day, the mountains of paper work he’d been buried under since seven am, the plans he had to go over that could mean the deaths of hundreds of people; alcohol always made that so much easier to manage.

He felt his fingers twitch and pulled at the collar of his shirt. Fear was bubbling in the pit of his stomach. A panic attack... no, he couldn’t have one here.

He swallowed and rubbed his eyes.

‘You okay?’ Cameron asked and Mycroft looked up at him.

‘Fine,’ he murmured.

But Cameron wasn’t buying it and stood suddenly. ‘Afraid Holmes and I have to leave, gents; important matters and what not.’

‘National security, blah, blah,’ O’Neal giggled. ‘Go on, PM.’

Cameron smiled and shook all their hands before looking at Mycroft. Mycroft pulled himself shakily to his feet and said goodbye before following Cameron outside.

‘Sir?’ he asked.

‘It’s good to see you getting healthy, Holmes. I was worried.’

Mycroft sighed. Of course Cameron had noticed. Of all the people to find out he guessed David Cameron was the best. He was a good, honest man and wouldn’t fire Mycroft because of a little problem.

‘Thank you, sir,’ he said.

‘Go home, go talk to your boyfriend,’ Cameron smiled. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon about that Atlantis Report.’

Mycroft nodded and watched Cameron disappear into a non-descript car. His own turned up a few minutes later and Mycroft fell into the backseat. He pulled at his tie and loosened it, his waistcoat, and his shirt. He felt like the car was closing in on him and took deep, calming breaths.

He said goodbye to his driver and stumbled into his flat, pushing the door closed heavily. Memories of coming home drunk after long nights and throwing up made his world spin. He managed to right himself and lean heavily against the kitchen table.

He had to call Gregory, to get him to come over. Because his need for a drink was overwhelming. The smell of it at dinner, the looks the men got on their faces as they consumed it. It made everything better, made everything go away.

Mycroft swallowed and walked into the bathroom, a place Greg hadn’t checked thoroughly. Greg and Mycroft never actually used it and Mycroft pulled back the shower curtain. There was a very expensive bottle of wine sitting on the edge of the bath tub; a gift from O’Neal for his last birthday. Mycroft had come home drunk and stepped straight into this shower to wash away the smell of spilled alcohol. He’d left the bottle there.

He stared at it, could imagine uncorking it and taking deep gulps. It would wash everything away; the pain he was feeling in his gut, the tedium of having to put up with drunken men, the stress of work and life and _everything._

Mycroft’s BlackBerry chirped and he barely got it from his pocket without dropping it. ‘Holmes.’

‘ _Sir, don’t drink_ ,’ A’s calm voice came across the line. ‘ _You don’t need to._ ’

He swallowed heavily. ‘But it’s... right there.’

A could hear the fear in his voice and said, ‘ _Sir, please. You’ve made it a month._ ’

‘I need...’ he paused and pulled at his shirt. He was sweating now, trembling, the need to have just _one_ sip _so_ overpowering. ‘Just... just one,’ he said. One couldn’t hurt.

‘ _NO!_ ’ A shouted.

But he’d already dropped the phone and reached for the bottle.

 

-oOo-

 

Greg burst into Mycroft’s flat panting. He’d driven from Scotland Yard as soon as he’d got A’s call. She’d sounded frantic and all Greg heard was, ‘Drink... late night... needs you...’ He’d come over as soon as he could but A had called twenty minutes ago.

Greg darted through the flat looking for Mycroft, checking the living room and kitchen thoroughly before heading for the bedroom and en-suite bathroom. Mycroft was nowhere to be found and Greg cursed, running his hands through his hair. He couldn’t let a month of hard work, of pain and sweating and panic attacks, ruin this. Mycroft was doing well.

He went back down the hallway wondering where Mycroft was when he saw the door to the main bathroom ajar. He pushed it open and flicked the light on.

Mycroft was sitting with his back against the far wall, his hands curled around a bottle of wine. The cork was gone and there was liquid spilled everywhere.

Everything came crashing down and Greg groaned. He felt hurt and betrayed but couldn’t really blame Mycroft; addicts were bound to relapse. It was the addiction, not Mycroft.

‘Mycroft,’ Greg sighed and stepped in, careful not to slip.

‘I’m sorry,’ Mycroft mumbled.

‘Did you drink any?’ Greg asked as he crouched beside his boyfriend.

Mycroft looked up at him. He looked tired and scared... but not drunk.

‘No,’ he whispered.

Greg let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. ‘Thank god. I wouldn’t have left you if you did, Mycroft, but I’m glad you didn’t.’

‘I couldn’t disappoint you,’ Mycroft swallowed and tipped more liquid onto the floor. Greg let him; his shoes and the bottoms of his trousers were already soaked. ‘I wanted to but couldn’t.’

‘What happened?’ Greg asked.

‘Dinner with the Prime Minister and a few other politicians,’ Mycroft said. ‘They drank and I stuck with cordial. But the smell, the look, the memory of how being drunk felt... it almost tipped me over. Cameron helped me escape, sent me home.’ He swallowed and poured the remaining liquid onto the tiles, drenching his already stained pants. ‘I needed a drink.’

‘But you didn’t have one,’ Greg said.

Mycroft looked up at him. ‘I need you more.’

Greg smiled and said, ‘Can I have the bottle?’

Mycroft nodded and handed it over. He was shaking and covered in sweat, cold to Greg’s touch.

‘Come on,’ Greg said and helped his boyfriend up. He made Mycroft take off his shoes and removed his own. He grabbed a towel and led Mycroft to his room. Making him sit on the expensive cotton, Greg said, ‘I’ll be back in a minute, alright?’

Mycroft nodded and sat mutely as Greg went to clean up the bathroom. Most of the towels had been splashed so he used them to soak up the liquid. He went and dumped the lot in the washing machine before stripping his pants and shirt, throwing them in too.

He found Mycroft where he’d left him and made the politician strip to his underwear. Afterwards he pulled Mycroft into bed and held him tightly.

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Mycroft mumbled.

‘You’re strong, Mycroft Holmes,’ Greg whispered into his ear as Mycroft closed his eyes. ‘I love you.’

‘Love you... too...’ Mycroft mumbled before letting unconsciousness take him.

 

-oOo-

 

They both woke to the cool and comfortable silence of Mycroft Holmes’ bedroom. It was around ten am and neither man’s phone had rung once. Greg suspected Anthea and thanked her silently as he turned to look at his boyfriend.

Mycroft was better, looked healthier and calmer, and managed a small smile. ‘Good morning.’

‘Morning,’ Greg replied. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Better,’ he said, ‘thanks to you.’

Greg smiled and leaned over to kiss Mycroft softly. ‘I’m glad.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Mycroft said. ‘I felt so out of control–’

‘It’s not your fault,’ Greg said firmly. ‘Myc, you wanted a drink but _didn’t_ have one. That’s all that matters.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ Greg insisted. ‘That’s all that matters, alright? You’re in control of it, you, and you stopped yourself.’

‘I didn’t drink because...’ Mycroft trailed off and reached out to stroke Greg’s face softly.

‘Because?’ Greg prompted.

‘Because I need you more than I need alcohol,’ Mycroft said. ‘I’ve never loved someone as much as I love you, besides my family and that’s not the same. I love you so much, Gregory. You complete me like nobody else ever has.’

Greg smiled and raised his hand to grip Mycroft’s where it sat on his cheek. ‘I feel the same, Mycroft. I’ve never loved someone like I love you. And I’m not going anywhere, now or ever, alright?’

Mycroft nodded and Greg leaned forward to kiss him again. It was soft and loving, tentative, the kind of kiss they might have had on their first date. The exact kind of kiss they shared eight months ago before everything had got intense and serious and insane.

Greg liked the kisses, the soft ones, but he was glad he got to experience the rough and hard ones, the needy ones that Mycroft Holmes only gave him. No one else was allowed to share those experiences, these experiences, with Mycroft. Only Greg. He got to see the loving Mycroft Holmes; the caring, casual, fragile man that Greg had grown to love. Only he got that Mycroft Holmes.

‘I love you,’ Greg said. ‘I love everything.’

‘Even my stupidity?’

Greg chuckled. ‘I love your stupidity the most.’

Mycroft smiled and pulled back to look at Greg, enjoying the warm features he’d grown to know so well over the past eight months. Nothing was as beautiful as Gregory Lestrade in the morning.

‘I need a cigarette,’ Mycroft said suddenly and Greg frowned. That was definitely unexpected.

‘Right.’

‘Can... can I?’ Mycroft asked and Greg blinked.

‘What? ’Course you can. It’s your body.’

Mycroft bit his lip. ‘I don’t want to upset you.’

‘Mycroft, you could never upset me,’ Greg said. Mycroft raised an eyebrow and he sighed. ‘Fine, you could upset me; you upset me a lot. But you can smoke if you want, it’s not up to me.’

Mycroft smiled and pulled himself from bed, Greg following. He grabbed the packet of smokes sitting on the kitchen table (most likely from Anthea, Greg realised) and proceeded across to the lounge room windows. He pushed them open and pulled out a smoke, lighting it quickly and sighing. He looked at Greg as he sat beside the window.

‘Do you want one?’

Greg had been going so well but in that second, looking at a very sexy, dishevelled, smoking Mycroft Holmes, Greg felt his confidence crumble.

‘Alright,’ he said and sat before Mycroft. He took a cigarette and lit it, turning to blow smoke out the window. He suddenly found himself being pulled back and smiled, resting against Mycroft’s warm, lean frame. ‘Love you,’ he said.

‘I love you too,’ Mycroft said.

They smoked mostly in silence, occasionally breaking it to mutter unimportant things to each other. Finally Greg sighed and stubbed out his third cigarette in the ashtray Mycroft had seemingly pulled from thin air.

‘What?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Well, this isn’t exactly how I planned on spending the day,’ Greg admitted.

‘Oh?’ Mycroft said. Greg turned to look at him. ‘I’m sorry, did you have somewhere to be? Work, you must have work, why are you still here? Up, Greg, you need to go to work.’

He pushed Greg up and carried the ashtray to the kitchen table. He set it down and turned to his boyfriend.

‘Work, Gregory.’

‘Mycroft, it’s eleven.’

‘You’re late!’ Mycroft said and turned to go to his bedroom. He froze again. ‘What are you going to wear?’ he demanded, facing Greg again. ‘I got your clothes dirty. Where are they? I’ll wash them. No, borrow one of my suits.’

Greg supposed he was still freaking out a bit because of the previous night. He was trying to take control of something, anything, and had decided to focus entirely on getting Greg to work.

‘Mycroft, I’m not going to work.’

‘Why?’ he demanded.

Greg smiled. ‘You need me.’

‘Scotland Yard needs you.’

‘Not today,’ Greg said and moved closer to his boyfriend. Mycroft was standing in the entrance of his hallway, staring at Greg. ‘I have the day off.’

‘Why?’

‘Ask your assistant.’

Mycroft smiled slightly. ‘She gave you the day off.’

‘It would seem she has the power,’ Greg shrugged. ‘My phone hasn’t rung once. Neither has yours.’

Mycroft nodded slowly. ‘I see. A has given us both the day off.’

‘Yes,’ Greg said and moved closer. ‘And I have something very important I want to do.’ He gave Mycroft a coy smile as he moved to stand directly in front of him.

‘What do you want to do?’ Mycroft asked.

He didn’t seem to be getting Greg’s meaning and the DI leaned back to look at him carefully. ‘You mean... you don’t know?’

‘Know what?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Myc...’ Greg said slowly and looked him over. The man really had forgotten and Greg giggled.

‘What?’ Mycroft asked, getting frustrated now. Greg continued to chuckle and Mycroft sighed. ‘Your laughter is annoying, Gregory.’

‘You don’t remember,’ Greg smiled and leaned forward. He pressed his hands against Mycroft’s singlet, enjoying the warmth he could feel beneath.

‘Remember what?’

Greg smiled again and ran his fingers along Mycroft’s chest. ‘It’s been a month, Mycroft.’ He looked up at his boyfriend carefully, waiting for the realisation. ‘You’ve been sober one whole month.’

Greg moved closer so their bodies were pressed together and watched as Mycroft’s eyes went wide. ‘Oh.’

‘Yeah,’ Greg said softly, slowly. ‘Do you remember our deal?’

Mycroft swallowed and nodded.

‘What was it?’

‘One kiss for every day I was sober,’ Mycroft said, ‘though we didn’t exactly follow that.’

‘No we didn’t,’ Greg agreed. ‘What else?’

‘One week and I got a grab, which turned more into a rub.’

‘Yep.’

‘Two weeks a hand job,’ Mycroft said slowly and smiled at the memory. ‘Three weeks and I got a blow job.’

‘Yes,’ Greg said softly.

‘Four weeks...’ Mycroft paused and gulped. ‘Four weeks and I... you...’

‘I made you come with my fingers,’ Greg said, smiling. ‘And my mouth.’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft said weakly, arousal flooding through his body. That had been a very good day. ‘A-a whole month and...’

Greg leaned up to breathe the words into Mycroft’s ear. ‘One whole month and I let you fuck me.’

Mycroft groaned and shivered, Greg smiling as he saw Mycroft gulp and close his eyes.

‘It’s been seven weeks, Mycroft. Seven weeks since we last had sex. You remember sex, don’t you?’

‘Mm-hmm,’ the politician managed.

‘Your cock in my arse,’ Greg said, keeping his voice low. ‘Remember?’

‘Uh,’ Mycroft gasped.

Greg ran his hands over Mycroft’s very warm chest, going down to his boxers. ‘You fucking me while I play with myself,’ Greg continued and Mycroft twitched. His boxers were forming a little tent now and he smiled. ‘Me shouting your name as you fuck me.’

Mycroft grunted something like, ‘Nngh,’ and Greg grinned.

‘Do you remember that, Mycroft?’

‘Y-yes,’ he whispered.

‘Would you like to do that again, Mycroft?’ Greg asked and pushed himself forward. His own erection bumped into Mycroft’s. ‘You’ve been sober a month... would you like to fuck me?’

‘Mm.’

‘What was that?’

‘Yes,’ he nodded.

Greg smiled. ‘What are you waiting for?’

Suddenly Mycroft’s hands were tight on his arms and his lips crushed onto the DI’s, kissing him so hotly and passionately that Greg was worried he’d fall over from the force. Mycroft dragged him to the bedroom, squeezing the life out of Greg and sucking the breath from his lungs too.

Mycroft was everywhere at once; kissing Greg, running a hand through his hair, touching and kissing his jaw, running smooth hands up his back and along his chest and stomach. A hand dived down Greg’s pants to grip his cock and Greg groaned.

He stroked quickly, making Greg completely hard in a second. Suddenly Greg’s shirt was being pulled over his head, the fabric tearing free in Mycroft’s haste. He fell to take one of Greg’s nipples in his mouth, sucking and licking and biting, doing everything in his power to completely arouse Greg like never before.

‘Fuck-ing- _hell_ ,’ Greg moaned as Mycroft ripped his pyjama pants down, freeing his cock. He stepped back to admire the view and folded Greg’s pants, draping them across the leather chair in the corner. ‘Mycroft!’ Greg groaned.

Back on the bed, he took Greg completely, sucking hard and playing with his balls. One hand ran along his chest and touched with the neglected right nipple, squeezing until the nub became hard in his soft fingers. ‘Jesus-Christ,’ Greg moaned. ‘What... huh...’

He couldn’t put anything into proper sentences. Since when had Mycroft been this sex crazy? He was like a machine, hitting every erogenous zone Greg had. Suddenly there was a finger being inserted into him and Jesus _Christ!_

And then Mycroft was straddling him and attacking his neck, sucking fiercely and licking at his hot skin.

‘Jesus, Myc,’ Greg groaned and pushed up, his cock sliding along Mycroft’s arse.

‘I missed this so much,’ Mycroft moaned against his neck. He moved to his jaw, nipping at the stubble-covered skin. ‘I need you,’ he said and grazed his lips over Greg’s skin. He hovered his lips over Greg’s and looked him in the eye. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too,’ Greg said.

Mycroft moved again and stumbled from the bed. He slipped from his singlet and boxers before pulling open the top draw of his dresser. He grabbed the bottle of lube and looked down at it. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he told the liquid and Greg chuckled as Mycroft climbed back onto the bed. He slicked himself up and tossed the bottle over his shoulder.

‘Animal,’ Greg chuckled as Mycroft pulled his legs over his shoulders.

‘I’ve missed you.’

‘You see me all the time.’

‘I mean like this,’ Mycroft said and moved his cock closer to Greg’s entrance. They both shivered at the touch. ‘Not that I don’t miss you all the time. But this...’

Greg sat up to capture Mycroft’s lips and kiss him hurriedly. ‘I know, I know,’ he said. ‘Now fuck me.’

Mycroft smiled and pushed in. They both groaned and shuddered. Finally, after seven weeks, sex again!

He set up a breath-taking rhythm, Greg moaning and pushing down to meet his thrusts immediately. He grabbed Mycroft’s arms and tried to drag him closer, loving how Mycroft invaded him so smoothly, so forcefully, so fucking hot.

Greg reached for his own cock and he began pulling, everything combining in a fantastic net of panting, of need, of lust and of Mycroft Fucking Holmes. Greg would never tire of getting fucked by the man, of seeing Mycroft come loose and pant and sweat and–

Greg swore loudly as Mycroft pushed him back, angling himself so he could fuck his boyfriend deeper and harder than before. Had sex always been this good? Had _Mycroft_ always been this good? Seven weeks without sex certainly seemed to have improved the younger man’s abilities.

‘God... Myc...’ Greg moaned. ‘Right... there... _fuck_!’

Mycroft was panting and thrusting, his hands finding Greg’s hips to pull him closer and closer. The waves of ecstasy shuddering through the politician’s body was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. It was like he’d never had sex with Greg and this was their first time.

And it was fucking fantastic.

‘Fuck, Myc,’ Greg groaned and squeezed himself tighter. ‘Gonna... come!’

‘Yes, please,’ Mycroft begged and managed to open his eyes. ‘Come for me.’

‘Fuck,’ Greg groaned.

‘Come,’ Mycroft commanded.

Finally an orgasm twisted at his body, at his very soul. It shattered everything inside him and ripped out a noise he was sure he’d never made in his life as he spilled come across his hand and stomach. He pulled at his cock, his leg, Mycroft, his hair, just trying to claw back into reality from the mind-blowing ferocity that was smashing through his body like a supernova. That one man could make him feel like this...

_Jesus-Fucking-Mother-Fucking-Christ!_

Greg tightened and clamped down around him completely, tugging Mycroft over the edge. Everything went white, then dark, then red, and then nothing mattered but the sheer force of the pleasure moving through his system. Mycroft swore louder than he ever had before as something so primal, so fucking good, ripped at every nerve he had. He was aware of Greg moaning beneath him and he managed a smile through the haze.

Gregory. His Gregory had done this. He felt so out of control; completely lost in the power of the pleasure that held him. Being with Greg, whether in bed or just having dinner, was the only time Mycroft felt it was okay to lose control. He felt completely safe with him and knew, without a doubt, that he would always be comfortable giving himself over to Gregory Lestrade. Mycroft bowed down to the pleasure cascading through his body completely, letting it wash over him. His love for Greg, Greg’s love for him, the sex, the dinners, the company, everything. Mycroft would bow down to it every fucking time.

He found himself falling and Greg groaned as he managed to roll Mycroft aside. They laid on the bed panting and blinking, amazed at what they were feeling. Sex had never been _that_ good.

‘Greg-ory...?’ Mycroft managed after about ten minutes. He was content to just lie there forever and ever. Forget the British Government, forget about his wayward brother. There was just Gregory, for now and forever.

‘Y...yeah?’ Greg mumbled back.

‘I... fuck.’

‘Yeah,’ Greg said. ‘I agree.’

‘I love... you.’

‘Love you too.’

‘Gregory?’

‘Yer?’

Mycroft managed to roll onto his side and Greg did too, though with much groaning and cussing. He suddenly felt like he’d aged a hundred years.

‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Without you... I’d be lost.’

‘Same here, Myc,’ Greg smiled. ‘I’d kiss you but I’m completely fucked.’

Mycroft chuckled. ‘I’d hope so.’

‘Now I know why people wait a while when they get married,’ Greg mumbled. ‘The wait is definitely worth it.’

Mycroft smiled and closed his eyes. ‘Greg?’

‘Mm?’ the DI yawned and peeled his eyes open. Mycroft was watching him with one eye and looked exhausted. ‘What?’

‘We are never, ever waiting again,’ Mycroft said firmly.

Greg grinned. ‘Oh, I agree, Mycroft,’ he said and Mycroft smiled. ‘I agree one hundred percent. If I ever have to wait seven weeks for sex with you, just fucking kill me right now.’

Mycroft chuckled and slowly leaned forward to kiss Greg softly.

Greg kissed him back and they both fell asleep quickly, holding each other tightly.


End file.
